


In Every Life I've Lived

by sirius



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirius/pseuds/sirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Nanowrimo 2007, this started out as a bit of a joke, really. AU fic featuring Japanese boyband members? Only then a plot interfered and it got really serious, and...it's actually quite a depressing read. I realise that this is rather hysterical, given that I'm writing <i>AU fic featuring Japanese boyband members</i>, but eh, what can I say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shipshape

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in 2007 and includes explicit sexual content and angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written in 2007 and includes explicit sexual content.

“Goryeo,” the man says. “Goryeo is where they're all going. If you want to feed yourselves over the winter. That's where you want to set your sail for.”

“Goryeo,” the taste of the word on his tongue, strange and bitter. He's heard of it, his father once mentioned it. This was before ships advanced, crews increased, when the idea of raiding the Korean Dynasty was a mere dream. “I've heard that they're in the capital, too.”

The man looks around. “I don't know about that, but there's talk of it. Some of the ships were even spotted in Pyongyang. So they say. It's all talk, you know how the drunken idiots talk. Wouldn't that be something, lad. You young ones, you're making history.”

“Making history, huh,” he says. “I'd settle for making money. Grain. The crew...they're getting antsy. Long trip for no pay-off.”

“Well,” the man says. “Best head for Korea. They say that those who go there, they'll eat for a year on what they take. Grain, and men too. Some women,” the man winks, nudges the drunken idiot slumped beside him. “If you catch my meaning.”

“Appreciate the tip-off,” he says, slips a small coin into the man's pocket. They leave, then. They haven't got the money for drinks. The crew stay behind, drowning their sorrows in the little alcohol they can afford. 

They walk onto the seafront. It's all dark and the boats rock to and fro, like sinister dolls. Pirates like the dark, mostly. It provides protection and disguise. But Yamapi doesn't: it makes him feel gloomy. Claustrophobic. Then again, being on land is often like that. He's been on the sea for so many years that it feels strange to be on still ground. Everything is quiet, until Jin stops, watching the stars. 

“What do you think?” he says, rolling his shoulders. 

Yamapi shrugs. “It's as good an idea as any we've come up with.”

“I wonder if there'll be anything left for us,” Jin says. “He said that everyone's out there.”

“How many ships go missing, find other territories? Get distracted, shot down? It won't be as busy as he thinks. I doubt there's more than a dozen other ships there. Look on the bright side: if there's too much traffic headed that way, at least the journey will be peaceful. We don't have the means to fight.”

“We should put the word out, boost the crew a bit. I don't want another almost-mutiny,” Jin says. “I can't believe you threw him overboard.”

“Safest thing,” Yamapi says, kicking at the ground. “Didn't trust him. Captains aren't supposed to trust anyone.”

“You trust me,” Jin says. Then, he looks up. 

“I have to. You're my quartermaster,” Yamapi says. “And if I didn't trust you, I'd be-”

“Who's that by the ship?”

Yamapi doesn't know. The two of them exchange glances, then make swift work of the harbour. 

“That's private property,” Yamapi calls out. “Reveal your identity. We're armed.”

Jin looks at his empty scabbard, sword stolen three days ago. He hopes that the stranger doesn't feel like testing them. Not tonight. 

The man turns, and he's a woman. An old woman, at that. Yamapi visibly baulks, looking with a white face at her palm on his ship. 

“Who are you?” he says. “Take your hand off my ship. Don't you know that women are bad luck?”

The woman laughs, but she does as he asks. “I could be the best luck you've had in a long time,” she croaks. She's wearing layers of fabric, not inexpensively turned out. There's silk in there, around her withered neckline. Her inner robe is scarlet, but in the dark it looks like cranberry. Her outer robe is white, bright as the moon. It's a bad omen, Yamapi thinks. A female wearing death. Can't be a good sign. 

“I hardly think so,” he says. “Years and years of tales-”

The woman scoffs. “How many women have been on one of your ships? The minute one walks onboard, you men start crossing yourselves. I've never heard a grain of truth in your supposed tales. I'm telling you: I may be the best luck you've had in months. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to insult me?”

Yamapi looks at Jin, who shrugs. Despite himself, he's curious. “Go on,” he says. There's a coin left in his pocket. “Be assured that we'll reward any useful information you have.”

“It's not information, so much,” she says. “As a bit of a tale. You like tales, don't you?”

Yamapi rolls his eyes, but Jin nods. “Pirate ships are nothing without a few good tales.”

“Well,” she begins. “It starts the same way as most ghost stories start: with a man who thought he could cheat death. A man who ultimately became a victim of death's vengeance. They say that he was a young man, a young captain of a vessel somewhat similar to yours in size. Cocky, they say. He lived when there weren't so many of you pirates around and so he became richer with each passing year. It wasn't enough.”

Jin is nodding, thinking of Yamapi, a bit. Yamapi's father wasn't a good pirate. He lived through countless mutinies and battles, so he was a good survivor, but he wasn't good at looting, rape and pillage. Yamapi is made of tougher steel. And his ambition, too, is steely. 

“He heard a rumour about a cavern filled with endless treasures, exotic food, precious jewels. That you empty the cave of its riches, that you could pack a ship full of it, and when you returned it'd be as full as it had been the first time. If you found such a cave and kept it all to yourself, there'd be no need to loot anymore. It appealed to the man. He'd never been the fighting sort.”

“Does the cave exist?” Yamapi says. The magic seems to be working on him, too. 

“Nobody knows,” she says. “But I like to think he wasn't mistaken. Otherwise, his short life was wasted. They say that he searched for it for many years without success. That he indulged in all sorts of practices to uncover its location, even black magic.”

“What happened to him?” Jin asks. “This isn't one of those ghost stories where it ends: 'he was never seen again', is it? I hate those.”

“No, they say that his life ended tragically. They say that he found the cave, that he broke through the vines and the knotted plants that covered its entrance. Years of abandonment, you see. He sliced through these obstacles in a heartbeat, and walked into the cave. Only that wasn't the end of the story. There were no treasures. The cave was empty.”

“So he went home and gave up piracy?” Jin says. “That's even _worse_.”

“You like interrupting, don't you?” she says. “You'll ruin the story if you hear the end before you should.”

Yamapi is staring at her, hard. “If the cave is empty, it doesn't matter whether it exists or not. This information is useless.”

She stares back, unflinchingly. “They say that he was swallowed by the same vines that he chopped up. That he was strangled. There seems to be something about the place that's dangerous. Some form of magic. Perhaps it wasn't his destiny, and he forced it. Nobody knows.”

“Nobody knows who the destined person was?”

“Nobody knows,” she says. “But you could do worse for a destination. Word has it that everyone is Korea-bound, these days.”

“How do you know all of this?” Yamapi says. “Little old woman. How do you know this? Did you have a son, a pirate son? A brother? It seems that you have connections, and I'd like-”

She is gone before he can finish the sentence. He swears under his breath and Jin laughs, pats him on the arm. “It was a good story,” he says. “I think she embellished it a bit.”

“You think?” Yamapi shakes his head. “We've bigger things. I'm going to bed. Round up the crew, put the word out that we're recruiting tomorrow. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

“That'll upset them,” Jin says. “They've just got here. Everyone's restless.”

“The sooner we're back on the water, the sooner we'll find somewhere to loot. Anyone who isn't with me can stay behind. You know how it goes.”

“I know,” Jin says. “Be good if we could find that cave.”

Yamapi snorts. “With what? She didn't even give us directions. At least we didn't pay her. Crazy old woman.”

Jin smiles, as the moon escapes the clouds. His face is illuminated temporarily and Yamapi is struck by it. It's not something he gets to consider very often, these days. He's lucky to have Jin by his side. He scrunches up his face, boards the ship, waves a grumpy goodbye. Jin laughs, mostly to himself. Whistling a tune, he heads back to the inn, intending on scraping the crew up from the floor.

There's a coil of smoke beside the boat, and it rises slowly behind Jin's back. The ship rocks backwards and forwards in the night and the white gas seeps in through the black portholes.

 

The crew are hungover the following morning. The morning is bright and cheerful, which doesn't help. It's unusually beautiful for autumn, though, and Yamapi's grateful for small mercies. The crew stand beside the hopefuls and peek at them out of the corners of their eyes. For all that Yamapi is moreorless penniless, his reputation precedes him. He rarely has trouble amassing men to crew his vessel. Jin stands at the forefront of the line, hitting the man beside him as he's falling asleep where he stands. 

Certain people Yamapi dismisses on sight. Some are too young, others too weak. Some are too old. One is a woman. He's grown ruthless through years of experience and he knows on sight who will come in useful and who won't. He picks five or six people for deck work, strong as oxen and bull-headed. He can see it in their faces, that they'll work themselves to death for a cut of the takings. Then, he picks a couple of people for cooking, a couple for book-keeping. A navigator. The last one went missing, presumed drowned. Yamapi hopes for better luck this time around.

They board, and Jin puts them to work. He's testing his limits with the new crew, something he does each time around. He works out the slackers, is tough on them from the outset. Yamapi is lucky to have Jin. Jin whips people into shape, creates in them a sense of loyalty, a determination to serve a captain who is cold and unresponsive. Jin is warmer, more fluid. Something of a shapeshifter. At times, he lifts the mood on the coldest days, the longest nights. At times, he has a edge on him that makes Yamapi want to throw him overboard. He's harsh but fair. Just, a bit naive. That's Jin's only problem.

Yamapi's lucky, all the same. 

“The harbour is there,” Jin says, nodding overboard. “If you're going to bail, do it now. Less chance of drowning. It's hard work. You'll suffer. But most of you haven't a thing better to do, or any money to do it with. So make your decisions, and make them final. We'll sooner chuck you overboard than suffer traitors.”

It works: nobody moves. There's a sense of purposefulness, of pride. Yamapi heads below deck with his new navigator, who unsurprisingly agrees with everyone else in Tsushima province and thinks they should head for Korea. They study the map, which is more faded than Yamapi remembers it being. He assures the navigator that new maps will be provided at the earliest opportunity. 

“If you go with this route,” the man replies, navigating with fingertips. “You'll bypass the key danger areas. See, there. That's where some of the less brave pirates hang out, hoping to come across a ship making for Korea. If we go around the other way, we'll miss them.”

“It'll take-”

“It'll take longer,” he says, firmly. “But we've less chance of being blown to bits.”

Yamapi studies, thinks. “Good work. Stick with me, kid, and you've a future. What did you say your name was?”

“Shigeaki Kato,” the man says. “My father was-”

But Yamapi is gone, without another word. Shigeaki Kato nods to himself, slumps in his seat. He's not sure what he's got himself into. His father was-, there's no words to even end the sentence, anyway. He takes up the map in his hands, grasps it hard to shake off the memories. Surprised, he drops it, looking at his hands. It's covered in a film of white foam. 

“Cap-”

On second thoughts, no. He wipes his hands down on his trousers, shaking his head and the thought from his mind. There's noise from above deck, and he concentrates on that, instead. It's easier. For his father the peace and quiet of a silent, small room on a silent, small ship. For Shige, something different. The best way to end the sentence and summarise his entire life: his father was- different. His father wouldn't serve this man, not on this boat, not with this foamy, faded map. His father was- different. 

 

Yamapi is awake most of the night, as are the crew. For such a pleasant day, the night is horrifying. The sea is almost possessed. It's certainly an introduction for the new crew, and Jin keeps them in order. By morning, things look better. The sea is calm again, and everyone feels too ill to eat so there's more food in the long run. Yamapi sits with Jin, they both eat. They're used to this. 

“I didn't see the navigator last night,” Jin says. “You don't want him above deck?”

“No,” Yamapi says. “I want him rested, able to concentrate. There's plenty of people to do the labour. If he gets it wrong, we'll be in Heaven only knows where. Leave him be.”

“What do you think of him? Traitorous, do you think?”

“No, I don't think so. Naïve. Rich family. But not traitorous. What about you? Planning to throw anyone overboard?”

Jin thinks on this, grins. “For the first time in five years, not one of them. How about that?”

 

Yamapi is quite tempted to throw Shige overboard, when he bursts into his cabin. Shige isn't long awake, but his back goes rigid and his face honorific at the mere sight of the captain. It'd be a good sign, but the condition of the map is more pressing. 

“What did you do to it?” Yamapi hauls Shige from his chair, presses him against the wall. “What did you do?”

Shige looks over Yamapi's shoulder. “I can't se- I don't-”

“The map is _gone_ ,” Yamapi spits. “If that clarifies things any further.”

“Gone?” Shige repeats. “Stolen? I was...nobody came into-”

“No,” Yamapi says. “Gone. Vanished. There's a blank, white canvas on the table. What have you done? What sort of black magic do you know? Who sent you here?”

“Nobody sent me here! I don't know black magic, I swear! I don't know what happened. Please, you have to believe me. I didn't do anything. I wouldn't do anything!”

“You can't explain how it came to be that twelve hours ago, the map was here, and now, it's not? You can't come up with a single explanation?”

“It...yesterday night. It'll sound stupid, but...it was foamy. The map was wet.”

Yamapi releases him, goes over to touch the map. “The ink ran?”

“No, more...it was like a film of foam. But the colour didn't run. At least, I don't think it did.”

“You didn't think to inform me of this?”

“I didn't want to bother you, I thought-”

“In future,” Yamapi says. “I'm to be informed of anything strange. Anything. Whether I'm in the middle of a storm or otherwise. What you did tonight was neglectful, and I don't forget easily. Find a way to recover the lost information, or I'll drop you at the next port I see.”

Shige nods. “Understood.”

“Be glad I believe you didn't do anything underhand, or I wouldn't bother finding a port.”

“Yes. Yes, captain. Understood. I'll get to work right away.”

When Yamapi returns to the deck, the crew are mainly napping. The boat is slowly pacing, Jin standing by the wheel. He quirks an eyebrow when he sees Yamapi. 

“Don't let on,” Yamapi says. “But we're cursed. I knew that woman was a bad omen. I _knew_ it.”

 

Shige works, silently, trying to recover the route from his notes. He's still not used to making the sort of thorough notes his father tried to instill him in. There's enough, though, to allow him to construct a rough draft of the intended route. He looks at the map, colourless and empty. He's cursed. The very first voyage he's ever been on, and within a day everything has gone wrong. Maybe his father was right. Maybe the seas just aren't for him. 

He's about to take the papers to the captain's cabin in the hope of restoring some favour when he notices it. The map isn't entirely colourless and empty. A large grey area has appeared. There's an arrow next to it, in darker grey. No labels or words, just a spot and a direction. Shige takes up the map in his hands, stares at it. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks. “Why?”

Obviously, the map says nothing. Shige sighs, closes his eyes. He makes his way to the captain's cabin with a heavy heart. 

 

The cabin is empty. The two of them are on the deck. Jin is eating an apple, feeding Yamapi sections he slices off with an old knife. They're close. The relationship between captain and second-hand man is, of course, but they're unusually close. Shige hasn't seen anything like it before. 

“Captain,” he says. Yamapi looks over and Jin takes the wheel from him.

“You have the directions?” Yamapi asks. 

“Yes, but...”

“What now, boy? You're unusually troublesome for someone so inexperienced at life.”

“Yamapi,” Jin says. “The map.”

Shige nods, hands over the canvas. Yamapi stares at it. 

“I'm going to have to put someone in your room to keep an eye on you,” he says. 

“I promise you, I didn't do anything! I don't know why this is happening!”

“I believe that,” Yamapi says. “But it's only happening when you're present. And I want to know why. Jin, find someone who'll sit with him. Someone trustworthy.”

Jin nods, scanning the crew. “Alright,” he says. “Are we going to this place, then? It looks more interesting than Korea. Hey, maybe it's the place the woman-”

“What woman?” Shige asks, his eyes wide.

“Not your concern,” Yamapi says. “Can you draw me up the best route to the spot on the map? We may just have enough supplies to make it. I'll make my decision as soon as you can put that in my hands.”

Shige nods, removes the papers. He understands the importance. The woman, she preys on his mind. His father always said that women were cursed, bad luck for ships. In a way, it comes as a relief. Maybe it isn't him, after all. At the same time, though, if there is a curse on the ship, chances are this will be his only voyage. Either way, it amounts to the same thing: his father was right.

Most of the crew sleep, two or three stay on watch, just in case. Night owls, they say, they don't sleep much, never have. Yamapi retires to the cabin, takes Jin with him. Shige's scroll sits on the desk and Yamapi wants Jin's advice. He lies down, puts his hands beneath his head. He's suddenly exhausted.

“If we get there,” Jin says, fingering the map. “And there's nothing there, we haven't enough supplies to get back. Or to reach Korean land. To reach any land. We'd have to sail until we found another ship, hope for the best.”

“Yes,” Yamapi says. “They're not good odds. We have nothing to prove that that cave exists. And would you bet lives on it? Would you tell me to bet lives on it?”

“Including your own?”

“My own is the least of my worries. I can't haunt myself, after my death. God only knows what karma I'd amount, sentencing this entire ship to starvation, death.”

“But if the cave does exist,” Jin says. “We'll be richer than any other pirate. We'll control the seas. The men will go home richer than noblemen, richer than the court. The treasures never run out, that's what she said, that woman. We'd have more wealth than anyone in the country.”

“Why,” Yamapi says, voice gruff. “Do all dilemmas have to swing between money and death? Why is that?”

“I don't know,” Jin says. He looks impish, rolling up the scroll. “But it makes me glad I'm not the captain.”

“Are there any more apples?” Yamapi asks. He's waving towards the windowsill, where he sometimes keeps them until they're almost orange with wasted life. Jin brings one to him, one that looks reasonably fresh. The colder weather is helping to keep them cool. He takes the knife out of his pocket and slices it into sections, sitting down beside Yamapi's bed to steady his hands. 

“If it were just us,” Jin says, passing sections to Yamapi and feeding himself in the interim. “What would you do?”

Yamapi looks at him. Their eyes meet, boyish, excited. “I'd go for it,” he says. “You know I would. It's not the kind of thing you can turn down, is it?”

“Then go for it.” Jin says. “I think that old hag was right. I think there's something in it.”

“You always think that,” Yamapi says. “And if there's not? If we all have to die a long and painful death? Will you take the blame?”

Jin shrugs, chews on apple. “I'll say that at least we died well. Korea. As if everyone doesn't go there. At least we'd be doing something different.”

“I think searching for a non-existent supernatural cave counts as a failure, regardless of it being different,” Yamapi says, moving over in the thin sheets to make way for Jin. Jin is tired, too. He never sleeps well, the first few nights. It's as if transition takes time to settle on him, like a layer of snow. Jin turns over, finds a comfortable crook in Yamapi's arm. 

“If we find it,” he mutters. “If we find it, we'll go down in history.”

“We're already in history,” Yamapi says. “For believing the story in the first place. Gullible, that's what they'll call us. Good Ship Gullible.”

“But if we _find_ it-”

“If we find it, you can go in first. If we don't, I'll let them eat you.”

Jin snorts. There's silence, for a long time. Yamapi stirs over the things he wants to say, in that moment, that he hasn't had an opportunity to say before. This life is full of random occurrences, unpredictability, a lack of time for anything but the next voyage and the next target. Battles and diseases and long, open seas full of anything and everything and nothing. There isn't the time that noblemen seem to have: to court women, to foster relationships. Their life is full of other things and sometimes, Yamapi regrets the swallowed moments that they've lost. By the time he finds the right moment, Jin is asleep. 

 

Yamapi dreams of waving his father away, of being too young to understand. A cloudless day, a large ship. A gaggle of women in fine clothes, waiting somewhere in the distance. Men milling about, carrying objects that smell smoky. Dirty clothes, the odd rat, and mountains of food. He dreams of being on the ship, of being seasick. Scrubbing the decks. Being on night watch. And meeting Jin – he dreams of meeting Jin. He dreams of Jin's father, who died too young. He dreams of his father, who died too old. He dreams of the name of the ship, his ship, fading away under years of mistreatment and neglect.

He dreams of what they will call them, himself and Jin, in the years to come. And then he dreams of the life they could have had, in a different time, in a different place. A mountain of treasures fall down across these lives: gold, jewels, apples. Treasures fall and a thousand Yamapis and a thousand Jins stretch across time and space to reach to them. 

 

The crew aren't happy. It takes Jin a lot of work to convince them of the path Yamapi wants to take. In the end, Yamapi strides onto the deck, and informs them that:

“I don't care whether you're happy with my decision. It wasn't yours to make. It was mine. You made a promise, you swore an oath. I am not leading you into destruction on a careless whim. If you have faith in the beyond, as every man of our country should, then you'll understand that this is something we should grasp with both hands. This is a chance to make something of your lives.”

“And to make you richer!” the men call, and there's murmured agreement.

“When we reach our destination, it'll be every man to himself,” Yamapi says. “The woman prophesied that the treasures would never run out. You must take whatever you want for yourselves. I'll take nothing from you. And if we fail, then I'll carry that through whatever is to come. You can rest assured that I took this decision heavily. And if you won't be assured, then I have no further time for your disloyalty. I am not asking agreement. I am not demanding agreement. But I am demanding loyalty. Those not prepared to give loyalty have broken the oath they made, and should be punished accordingly.”

“I think-” Jin begins.

“Jin,” Yamapi interrupts. “Make them ready. We've a great ground to cover.”

Jin nods. One of the crew stops him, as he shouts instructions, gets everybody into place. 

“Has he gone mad, the captain?”

“Save that talk,” Jin snaps. “I won't hear it. He's as sane as he ever was, which is to say that he's just insane enough to be brilliant. You are lucky to be here.”

“He's going to kill us all!”

“Not if I do it first,” Jin says. “I want every man in his place. I want you all to consider your faith. I want you all to consider the chance of having something more. And most of all, I want you all to keep your mouthes shut, because it isn't your place to open them.”

Their greatest hope is a fast journey, Jin knows this. He sets them all to work, a little harder and a little speedier than Yamapi asked. It might save them a day, perhaps a bit more, in case-.

Well, just in case. 

 

That night, Yamapi has the cook prepare something a little special, using spices he and Jin bartered for some months ago. They are Indian, or so it is said. They paid a small fortune for them from some Chinese merchants, believing them to have healing properties. For them, they exchanged a large, blue stone. It would easily have made them money in the town, a wedding gift for a noble lady, perhaps. A love token. Plenty of places to offload a trinket like that. It came at a crucially wealthy time in the course of Yamapi's command, though, so they didn't do that. They took the supposedly-Indian spices, hoping for longevity and good health. Jin had been feeling unwell for some time.

Of course, they didn't provide longevity or good health, but they tasted so good that neither of them felt disappointed with themselves. Indeed, as much as they didn't feel their lives had been extended, nor their happiness enhanced, nor their health vastly increased – Jin seems to perk up, after months of eating little and with some disgust, the promise of a good meal that great. 

The crew cheer up in a similar way. It's partly because the food tastes unusually edible and partly because they're aware of the expense Yamapi went to to procure it. After the morning's difficulties, it eases tension, and those on watch go to their positions with lighter steps. The rest head for a little sleep, and Yamapi sees fit to join them. When he retires, he finds that Jin is waiting for him. He's looking at the maps, staring at the route. And then he turns, leans against the large, wooden desk in the captain's cabin.

“There's no apples tonight,” he says. And, true enough, no treasures fall down from the sky. There's just Jin. Just one person, one old, familiar face. One familiar body. Yamapi looks at him and that's enough, so that he can taste him. That old, familiar taste. It's been a month, perhaps more. And yet, the taste is so strong that he tries to swallow it down, to capture it. 

“No,” Yamapi says. “But something is ripe, right enough.”

He makes short work of the cabin floor, where he presses Jin up against the wooden frame until the breath seeps out of him and his chin tilts up. Yamapi's just a bit taller, it helps. When he kisses him, it's like coming up out of water and breathing in. It's hard, desperate, shot through with need. His head swims. He can't believe that it's been a month. Jin's lips are soft, wet, and his hands are on Yamapi's face and their hips are together. They shove about, shift awkwardly, trying half for friction and half for comfort. Yamapi's leg slips between Jin's thighs and Jin grunts, pushing down, flexing. There's heat, hardness. 

Ripe isn't the right word. Nothing is the right word. For this, Yamapi wouldn't trade anything. Not for all the treasure in the world, or all the Indian spices, or all the large, blue stones. Not for anything. Not for anything at all.

Their hands meet in the middle, flustered and colliding. Yamapi tries to dig his hands into Jin's trousers, Jin's hips moving forward to meet his fingers. He's tangled, so he yanks Jin's shirt out, first, and Jin reciprocates. Yamapi leans out, kicks the door with his foot to check that it's securely fastened. Jin pulls back, then, breathing hard. His eyes are positively enormous. He leans in again for a kiss that's slower, capturing a moment, stirring a memory. 

There's no real time for it, not now. Yamapi's hand delves and grasps, and Jin's mouth falls open with a stuttered 'yes'. It takes a moment for him to reciprocate that, and Yamapi is glad of it: he likes to watch thought and concern ebb out of Jin's expression. It's the sort of peace he never feels and he is glad to see it in somebody else. And then Jin comes back to him, breathing hard, and digs down with a timid hand. They pause a moment, legs move, Jin shifts back so that he's half on the desk. 

“Is that okay,” he says. It's not so much a question as a slice of vulnerability, and Yamapi leans in. Their chins brush together. 

“Yes,” he says. 

So Jin starts to move his hand, and 'yes' moves from whisper to grunt. Yamapi takes his lead, relishing that their clothes are still on, relishing the sway of the sea, relishing the salty smell of Jin's collarbone. Everything that he's ever known, everything that's home. And Jin's hand, and Jin's thumb, wet and welcoming and far, far too good. 

And his own hand, harder and rougher than Jin ever liked it, but he got used to it, and it works, now. Jin's touch soft, Yamapi's hard. Their eyes are closed, their foreheads together. Small cries and harder grunts come between them, mingling, a strange sense of them both together. Yamapi's hand blurs, and Jin reaches harder, faster, responding to the unfurling red mist inside of himself. Yamapi doesn't dare open his eyes. Too much can happen in that one moment, that one dangerous moment. 

Jin comes first, it's what he always does. He takes the periods of abstinence harder than Yamapi does. Even though Yamapi's grip is stronger and more forceful than he'd like, he still leans forward, a haggard head on Yamapi's shoulder, and cries out just behind his ear. It doesn't last long, but Yamapi savours every second because he knows that, very soon, he won't hear or feel or see anything at all. 

When he comes, there's a moment of white, endless nothingness. Purity more than isolation. Where everything becomes clear and all of the petty concerns and the niggling trials fade away. It's what he imagines the afterlife may be like. There's just himself, and Jin, and nothing else matters. No treasure, no gold falling from the sky. The sky is white, like clouds or snow, and when he opens his eyes he only meets Jin's face. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

 

Shige sits, writing a letter by candlelight. The other man sits in the corner of his room, just watching. He doesn't even look tired. Shige doesn't understand this one bit. Then again, he's tired and not sleeping, so maybe it's not that strange after all. 

“Don't you need sleep?” he says. It comes out ruder than he intended it to. 

“No,” the man says. “I don't sleep much. I used to. Every time I was on a ship, I'd go to sleep when I was supposed to. Habit, you see.”

Shige is starting to regret asking. He pauses in his writing, not wanting to ruin the letter by writing down what the man is saying, rather than what's in his heart.

“But then, every time I went to sleep, there'd be a reason to wake up. You know, a raid, or an attack, or a storm. Every time. I think I just learnt not to sleep much. I catnap, you know. Never did me any harm. I suppose that's why they picked me to watch you. Because I don't sleep. Only, you don't sleep, either. You'd think that you could watch yourself, really.”

“Yes. Sorry about that. I'd like to, but things keep...happening.”

“That happens to me, too. Strange things. There was always something, whenever I went to sleep. I could be cursed, for all I know!”

Shige whips around, then. “Don't say 'cursed'! It's bad luck.”

“Sorry,” he's sheepish, the man. Too talkative, but it could be worse. There's a lot of crew members Shige wouldn't dare speak to. “I'm bad luck. My presence is-”

“I think the ship is, you know.” Shige says. “C....you know. What you just said.”

“Oh,” the man nods. “Has the captain said so? It's bad luck, that.”

“No,” Shige says. “But strange things keep happening.”

“Sometimes, that's good luck,” the man replies. “World's strange like that.”

“You trust him? The captain?”

“I do,” the man says, with definite certainty. “Be a fool not to. He's protecting our lives, isn't he? No point doubting him. It'll do no good if he means ill, as worrying gets you nowhere. And if he means well then you'll only feel guilty for disloyalty. Might as well trust him.”

“And the quartermaster?”

“He sees the captain too well, without a doubt, but I like him. I think he tempers things. The captain is a little unpredictable. The quartermaster, he's clear as day. I'm not sure about this plan of theirs but if they believe it, then that's enough for me to wake up feeling cheerful.”

“I wish I had your spirit,” Shige says. 

“Well, if you go around writing love letters all day, you will feel sad,” the man says. “Common sense, that. Why not write a happy one. There's plenty to be thankful for.”

“It's not a love letter.” Shige says, quickly. Then, “what's your name?”

“Keiichiro,” the man says. “Call me Keiichiro.”

 

The first few days of sailing go well: clear, crisp air and sea as calm as the captain's mood. Yamapi cheers up when there's nothing around him but sea, Jin's noticed. And Jin, Jin is happy whenever Yamapi's happy, so the mood on board is good. The crew work hard, there's enough food to go around, and everyone is looking forward to finding the magical cave. Shige's confidence in map-reading improves, as does his friendship with Keiichiro. Sometimes, they're even trusted to man the wheel. Things are well. 

On the fourth day, Yamapi and Jin man the look-out nest, mostly to give the two who usually do it a break. The nights are cold and there's not much sleep going during the day, so they're grateful for the break. Yamapi takes some alcohol and some blankets, and he and Jin sit and look at the stars. It's like sailing past a vast, black planet, nothing to be seen but a cold glassy surface and thousands upon thousands of silver speckles. “Stars,” Yamapi says. “Not to be trusted.”

Jin reaches out his hand, as if to touch one. “Beautiful,” he says. 

“Know anything about stars?” Yamapi shouts down to Shige, who holds the wheel in excited hands.

“A little,” Shige shouts back. “My father...was a believer. I'm not sure, it's a bit of an inexact science.”

“Told you,” Yamapi says, to Jin. “Not to be trusted.”

“They probably drove my father mad,” Jin says. 

Jin's father was marooned, with only a small rowing boat for company. Supposedly, he rowed and rowed, for weeks on end, but never found land. It's possible that he was going around in circles. It's said by some that he drowned in a storm, by others that he starved to death. Jin hasn't ever been sure, but he's aware that the stars must have made lousy company for a lonely man. 

Yamapi leans his head on Jin's shoulder, his hand on Jin's leg. Jin smiles. 

“I like them,” he says. “You have your storms and your thunder. I like stars. They're quiet.”

“I don't like storms,” Yamapi. “I don't _like_ them. They just make me feel small.”

“Stars make me feel small,” Jin says. “I feel like they're watching us. Like I should be quiet.”

“Don't be silly.”

“What are you most afraid of?” Jin says, suddenly. They don't often have a chance to talk like this. 

Yamapi thinks about it. There's lots that scares him: failure, hunger, losing a battle, death. Most of these, he thinks a life in which nothing means anything to him, that'd be the scariest. So, he answers very simply:

“Losing you.”

Jin laughs. Probably doesn't believe him. Typical. “You?” Yamapi asks. 

“I don't know,” Jin says. “I've never really thought about it.”

 

The next day is scorching, unusual for the winter season. Nobody can understand it, because the night was freezing. Yamapi consults Shige about the water temperatures, but Shige assures him that they are roundabout where they should be. The crew seem to enjoy the weather, just not so much working in it. Jin doles out water where he can, making sure that everyone's working as hard as they can. As Yamapi and Shige talk about directions, Jin gets his hands dirty. The good thing about Jin is that he doesn't believe he's above the crew. He believes that Yamapi is, and he makes them believe it, too, but he himself, he's one of them. It makes the crew respect him.

“What are you hoping to find in the cave?” the Mate asks. He's doing routine checks, which Yamapi has asked for because of the strange conditions. The crew are abuzz with the idea that the voyage is cursed, and many of them are focusing on the destination rather than the journey. 

Jin thinks about this. “I'm not sure,” he says, carefully. “Don't get me wrong. Riches and food and supplies, that's what I'm hoping to find. But to be honest, I'm more excited about the prophecy coming true. If the cave is there, that'll be enough for me.”

“I'm hoping for gold,” the Mate says. “Lots and lots of gold.”

“Cooler weather would do it for me,” Keiichiro says. “Lots of cooler weather.”

“Do you believe in it, then? The woman's prophecy?” The Mate is a skeptical man. He's not sure what to make of the supernatural, on the whole. Working on a ship where so many put such store in it, that'd been something of a challenge. 

“Yes,” Jin says. “I don't believe we're cursed. I believe that strange things are happening, but not that we're cursed. Strange things tend to happen around me.”

“And me,” Keiichiro says. “And me.”

“And the captain, too,” the Mate says. “He told me. Strange things happen when he's on board.”

“Strange,” Jin says. “Normally, he doesn't believe in all that.”

 

The next day cools off again, and despite their tanned skin, the crew breathe sighs of relief. 

The day after, though, icicles start to appear on the rigging, and nobody is in the mood to feel relieved.

The day after that, the day after mutinous talk begins to circulate, is the day they reach their destination.

 

They're sailing through thick smog, rather like clouds, when it happens. Shige is on deck, unusually, assisting Yamapi at the wheel. Jin is keeping an eye on the crew, who are downhearted and cold. There's murmurs going around that they're nearly there, but nobody believes them. Everyone wants to go home. Most wish they'd gone to Korea, after all. There's not another ship in sight, one of the men points out. There must be a reason for that. 

“We should be here,” Shige says, deliberately keeping his voice quiet. “This should be it. Roundabout. Give or take a-”

“There's nothing here but smoke,” Yamapi says. “We could be anywhere.”

“I haven't been able to account for the weather conditions,” Shige says. “I've never seen anything like it. Four seasons in a matter of days. I mean-”

“When do you think the smog will clear?”

“I don't know,” Shige says, honestly. “Maybe we should go on further, try and get a better view of where we are.”

“I don't want us to hit an iceberg,” Yamapi says. “Weather suggests we're in iceberg territory.”

“This spot isn't noted for it,” Shige says. 

“I bet it isn't noted for being this cold, either, and yet here we are.” Yamapi says. “I'm not taking chances. We'll wait until the air clears up.”

He instructs the Mate to lower the anchor, and they wait. They wait for six, seven hours. Some people sleep, others are too cold. Yamapi gets more and more tense by the minute, and Jin feels claustrophobic. After ten hours, Jin suggests to Yamapi that they proceed forward. 

“I don't think that it's going to clear up,” he says. They study the map. 

“See, maybe the map isn't faded. Maybe the white bits are the smog. The cave is right there. Maybe if we just push forward, we'll find it. It's worth a try. It's better than sitting here, listening to that lot grumble.”

Yamapi isn't sure. “If we had better visibility-”

“I don't think we'll get better than this,” Shige says. “Er, with all due respect. This isn't right, for this area.”

“There's supernatural stuff in the air,” Jin says. “I know it.”

“Supernatural stuff?” Yamapi scoffs. “You go and tempt the crew with your 'supernatural stuff'. Idiot.” But he's smiling.

“Just trust me,” Jin says. “Just trust me.”

“We'll wait until morning,” Yamapi says. “If it's still smoggy, we'll proceed. I'm not about to crash this ship into something on a whim. God only knows what's about us.”

Jin looks at him. “You won't trust me?”

Yamapi looks back. “I'm here, aren't I? Isn't that enough?”

Shige politely excuses himself, rushes back to his cabin. “Fighting again,” he says to Keiichiro, by way of explanation. 

“Means one of them is right,” Keiichiro says. 

“Or neither,” Shige says, gloomily. “Quartermaster thinks we've arrived, captain thinks we haven't. What if both of them are wrong?”

“How can they both be wrong? Either we're here, or we're not.”

“Because if we are, then we're going to sit here until the smog goes, which it won't. So we'll all die. And if we aren't, then we're going to die trying to find something that doesn't exist.”

Keiichiro thinks about this. “Captain will come around,” he says. “You're depressing. Finished that love letter, yet?”

 

Yamapi and Jin compromise: they agree to proceed halfway between night and morning. They don't tell the crew. They make slow progress around the early hours, Yamapi cursing every time he feels a slight rock in the boat. The smog still present, the night's darkness makes things even more treacherous, but Jin's refusal to go back keeps them both going. And then, after an agonising half-hour that feels like a half-day, the bow of the ship taps something solid. 

“It's either a berg and we're about to sink, or this is it,” Yamapi says. Jin grins, showing teeth. He runs the length of the ship, lets down the rope and slides carefully down until his boots touch something solid. He crouches, runs his hand along the ground and cries, triumphantly, “It's land! Not ice, land!”

The crew wake at that, as if the word 'land' is some kind of internal alarm clock. No longer sleepy, they gather themselves and their clothes and follow Jin down the rope. Yamapi takes up weaponry, some supplies, and pushes Shige on in front of him. 

“Do you think this is it?” Shige says. He's holding the map. “Do you think this is really it?”

Yamapi looks at him. “I think so,” he says, gruffly. “We've been tested enough for it.”

 

Jin leads the way by candlelight, the smog dispersing as they progress over the wet ground. It's as if the rock has risen out of the sea. Its surface is covered in a film of foam, something Shige recognizes but doesn't dare point out. The rock itself is dim in colour, not thick black, brown or red. Almost grey. It has to be it, Yamapi thinks. It has to be it. 

Jin is thinking about all of the wondrous treasures that might be inside. Good food, money, peace at last. He's seen enough of piracy to know that unless you're lucky, it doesn't get you anywhere. He wouldn't be sorry to say goodbye. It's either that, or end up like his father. Making history is one thing. He'd settle for letting history make itself. He's done with it. 

Yamapi is thinking about Jin, and whether this will change anything. He's not sure about the future. He's not sure about anything, really, except that this had to be it. If it isn't it, if it's all a trap – well, there's so much he hasn't said. So much he hasn't done. He's not ready to give up. He's not ready to give in. His hand is by his side, fingering his sword. 

After some time, the rocks stop progressing horizontally and move vertically. Jin rests his hand, palm flat, on the wet, grey rock of what seems to be the cave itself. The crew turn around, looking for danger, in human or animal form. Supernatural form, even, at the end of the day. The air is thin with smog, still. There's not much to see, just rock. All around them is grey. Just as the map suggested it would be. Shige stares at it once more, almost unable to believe it. His other hand is by his pocket, fingering the letter within. 

Yamapi walks through the crowd to stand beside Jin. He puts his hand next to Jin's, and both of them feel the vines that they were warned about. 

“We can't cut them,” Jin reminds Yamapi, and Yamapi nods. 

“I wonder what the trick is,” he says. “There must be a trick.”

Jin shines the light over the vines. They twist and turn in all directions, but at their core is a small, round hole. Through it, the path within can be seen. It's clear, brilliant in colour, different from the muted overtones of the outside. But no treasure can be seen. Only the path and its illumination, tempting and deep. 

“It's there to entice us,” Yamapi says. 

“Or maybe it's a lock,” Jin says. “Find the key to fit the hole, and we're in.”

“It's not lock-shaped,” Yamapi says. “What key is that size?”

“I don't know,” Jin says. “Shige, does the map say anything about locks, or keys?”

Shige shakes out the map, but nothing. 

“Maybe it's the map!” Yamapi says, suddenly. They pass it to him and he rolls it into a thick roll. Pushing the roll through the slot, he waits for something to happen, but nothing does. After a minute or two, Yamapi sighs with disgust and removes it. He tosses it back to Shige. 

“Can you see anything around?” he says. “Anything large enough to fit into that hole?”

The crew search. Nobody finds anything, other than small rocks and water and the gnarled ends of vines. Everyone is restless, and Yamapi leans his face against the cold, wet rock. 

Shige looks down at the ground, the map folded under his arm. He takes it out, to check if he's missed anything, and that's when he sees it. 

 

_With your heart's desire, you can only look  
Through the lock at possibility untook.  
That vessel of desire will unlock the door  
After that, you may do more. _

 

“I hate riddles,” Keiichiro says. “I hate them. Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

Jin takes the map, stares at it. “And so full of rhyme,” he adds, bitterly. “I hate riddles, too.” 

He passes the map to Yamapi, who studies it for a few moments. “It says that we want what's in the cave. We desire what's in the cave. And with that desire, we can only look through the hole. To unlock the door, we have to fill the hole with a heart. After that, we can take what we want.”

Jin looks stupefied. “But whoever gives his heart will be dead. He can't do more. He can't do anything.”

“That's what it says.”

Everyone wants to turn back. The crew look amongst themselves. “Whose heart does it want?” the Mate asks. 

“The one with the most desire,” Shige says, mournfully. “That's the one that'll open the door.”

 _Yes_ , the map says. Everyone looks towards Jin. And Yamapi looks at them, looking at Jin, and he wishes they'd never come. 

 

When he thinks back on all the things they've done, he sees a sea of adventures. From the moment they met (Jin fell off the pier and Yamapi had to drag him out, they were six or seven) until the moment they're standing by the awful cave, all they've done is have adventures. To be fair, it was all they ever dreamed of doing. It was all any boy ever dreamed of doing. To have pirates for fathers, the certainly of eventful lives – Yamapi can't regret that. He can't wish for something more mundane, more uninteresting.

The problem is that he doesn't crave adventure anymore. He's used to it because it's all he does, and he enjoys it because he's with Jin, but he doesn't need it. He doesn't need any part of it. He needs Jin, but Jin isn't adventure. Jin is what happens between adventures, the familiar, the mundane and the uninteresting. It doesn't make him a bad thing. It just makes him rounded. The parts of life worth living. The everything, Yamapi supposes.

If they'd lived in the town, with simple jobs and a simple set of earnings, things would have been different. They'd have had to have kept their relationship secret, obviously. Here, the crew know. It's not something anyone talks about, but they know, all the same. And yet Yamapi doesn't feel that secrecy would be such a sacrifice. Not for all the time they'd get together. All the mornings in bed and the sex, and the security. This life isn't secure. It isn't safe. It isn't quiet, or still. They snatch moments of quiet and still, but they don't expect them. It's exhausting.

The crew leave them alone: suddenly find things to do. Some of them have mistresses, wives, they know the value of attachment. They understand the brevity of Yamapi's dilemma. A few days ago, Yamapi thought this was about deciding between money and death. That's what he'd said to Jin. Now, he realises that there are greater and more horrible decisions: those between death and death. They haven't enough supplies to make the journey home. The only way to gain them, is to sacrifice Jin's life. Death versus death. And whilst Yamapi would sacrifice himself or Jin's life, Jin is ever-aware of the rest of the crew. 

“Why do you think that woman led us here?” Yamapi asks. “I thought she was a good spirit. She seemed like a good spirit.”

Jin shrugs. “I think she wanted a heart,” he says. “Maybe she isn't a spirit. Maybe she isn't even dead. Just...missing a heart.”

Yamapi snorts. “You believe in too many ghost stories. Too many fantasies.”

“They exist, don't they? We're in one.”

“Believing is what brought us here, Jin. If we'd just gone-”

“If they need my heart, if you need my heart, take it. It's me or everyone, isn't it? That's what it says. I'm not prepared to have everyone die, out of stubbornness. I'm gone, anyway. If we do nothing, I'm gone. The only difference is, if we get it over with now, you have a chance.”

“A chance of _what_?” Yamapi says. “Of nothing? There's just...nothing.”

Jin shrugs, again. “You could give it up. Get married. Do something bigger than this.”

“I didn't want to do it without you.”

“No,” Jin says. “I didn't see it that way, either. But things change. I led you here. I'm prepared to do this. There's no other way, is there? At least it's a better end than my father had.”

They're silent, for a long while. 

 

The one regret Yamapi holds, apart from not going to Korea, is that he never got a chance to say goodbye. You may face dilemmas between money and death but you never know when death is imminent. Even when you choose money, you can never choose the moment where death must be faced. Had Yamapi known, this morning, that he would live and Jin would die – this morning would have been different. They wouldn't have argued. They would have lain in bed and said goodbye. 

Perhaps because they'd have known, it would have been sad, and awful. Perhaps it's better to go out as they lived: bickering and dreaming. Yamapi fulfilled Jin's last wish, which was to come to this horrible place. That's all he can think about, at the end of the day. It's all that it's sensible to think about. 

 

Shige stands well away, trying to force his mind to leave him be. Keiichiro stands by, even though he's not under obligation to keep watch. Shige rubs his face from time to time, and Keiichiro comes closer. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he says. 

“What?” Shige asks. He wipes his face with the back of his letter, which he feels like throwing away, now. “What's what I want?”

“This life,” Keiichiro says. “You can never guess it. Never predict it.”

“I told them to come here. I translated that awful, awful map. I did this.”

“You didn't do anything,” Keiichiro says. “They make their own decisions. They always did, always will. Pirates are like that. Offer them enough money and they'll try and cheat death. They got caught. I'm sorry for it, but it wasn't your doing.”

“I don't think this is what I want,” Shige says. “I just-”

“There's nothing else.”

“No. I can't do anything else.”

Keiichiro looks back, over his shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

 

When the crew return, Yamapi looks drawn and Jin looks almost as if the colour is fading from him. Yamapi has drawn his sword, and his dagger. The mate looks withered, guilty. 

“I just want to say,” he says. “It was an honour. To serve under-”

“Thank you,” Jin says. He almost doesn't want the platitude. He wants what his father had: silence, nothingness. Too many people about and it makes him want to run back to the ship. He's not completely selfless, after all. 

“Keep watch,” Yamapi says. “Turn your backs and keep watch.” 

Jin meets his eyes, a silent 'thank you' right there. He wants them to be alone. And Yamapi wants to say so many things, that have been lost over the years. He feels like all the things he ever wanted to say are raining around them and there's nothing he can do, now. There's a storm of lost words and he can only hope that Jin knows a fraction of what he feels. He can only hope that Jin's getting a little bit wet. 

He holds out the sword in one hand, the dagger in the other. Jin rests his hand on the dagger. They look at each other, but say nothing. Yamapi takes the dagger, but puts his hand in Jin's. 

“I am _so_ sorry”, he says. “You can't-”

“I know,” Jin says, strangled. “Just do it. Please.”

Jin turns his head and focuses on the path that lies before them. He closes his eyes and memories flood the whites of his eyes: the time he and Yamapi first met (he fell off a pier, he thinks, or perhaps Yamapi did), their first loot, the first time they worried they'd never set off, they had so much treasure aboard. Bartering, drinking, their first kiss. And the sex, lost things said in the dark. Feelings not vocalized. Life not lived. He thinks, hard, about where Yamapi can go now. The possibilities that lie before him. He focuses on that. The treasure that will buy him the kind of life he and Jin always wanted. Happiness. Peace. 

He takes a deep, hard breath as he feels the blade, and waits for life to ebb away. Waits for the memories to ebb away. Smoke rises, his skin is hot. That's when he opens his eyes. The dagger is trailing smoke. Yamapi's eyes are wide. Wet, too, but mostly wide. The skin isn't pierced, but a white outline remains. As Yamapi moves the dagger point around the place where Jin's heart lies, a shape is drawn in white foam. Yamapi swallows up his courage and completes the shape, then, looking at Jin with a fearful expression, draws the dagger back. The air leaves Jin's lungs, then, and Yamapi's tempted to stop. Just to stop, to go back, to let everyone die, it's not that important-

“Put the dagger in the hole,” Jin says, choked. 

Yamapi fumbles it down. Jin struggles to breathe. The white foam remains on his chest, burnt in. Yamapi almost doesn't want to touch him. The door is starting to smoke. The vines are aflame. Yamapi steps back, pulling Jin with him. The vines curl and retract, blackening into short twists. The passage is open. They have done it. 

Yamapi looks at Jin. Jin looks back at him. He's alive. He's _alive_. 

The way that he holds him, it's too hard, too rough, too forceful, and Jin's half-laughing, half-choking, but he doesn't care. They came through this and lived. They came through this and _lived_.

 

“Shige,” Yamapi says. “Does the map say anything now?”

Shige's hands are shaking. He unfolds the map. 

 

_Naive heart you have given me,  
In order to do more than see.  
Have no care in what you take,  
Treasure will not a heart remake. _

 

Yamapi doesn't want to think about what that might mean, though a part of him knows already, he thinks. Jin doesn't get the rhymes, he never does, but he's happy just to be alive. So Yamapi pushes the words to the back of his mind, and leads his crew down into the cave. Just around the corner, there's a long, wooden table. Highly polished, covered in candelabras. And food, food piled high almost to the roof of the cavern. Sitting at the table are seven men, made of smoky substance. One is brighter and sharper than all the rest. They do not talk, or move. Until, that is, Yamapi and his men turn the corner and stop, dead.

“Who are they?” The Mate asks. “Are they. They're not.”

Jin's eyes are like dinner plates. Yamapi can't think of a single thing to say. 

The smoking man at the head of the table raises his face, which is wicked and triumphant. He is the strongest, brightest of them all. Yamapi and Jin head up their men, reaching for weapons. As if that'll help, to fight against a ghost. 

“Thought I was a woman, did you,” the ghost says. “Hah.”

Yamapi is struck dumb. Jin's jaw drops open. “What?” he says. 

“I did tell you,” the ghost says, to the ghost on his right. “Little old women, more believable than old psychics. Idiot. _Idiot_.”

“You took my heart,” Jin says. “Didn't you?”

“Yes,” the ghost says. “I'll get stronger by the minute. Right now, it's happening. I don't mean to harm you, don't worry. Couldn't harm you. Not after what you did for me. Please, help yourself to food.”

“Why did you take my heart?” 

The crew don't move. It's partly loyalty, and partly fear. 

“Because I need to live,” the ghost says, simply. “Do you know what it is, just to exist and watch things happen around you? I want to feel. To have experiences. To know what it is to love, and hate. To feel anger, joy, pain. I want to feel. Don't you understand that?”

Jin understands that. 

“Yours is a good heart,” the ghost says. “I'm glad to have it.”

Yamapi's face is wretched. “What do you mean?”

“It's full of feelings. Full of words that never got said. You stored them up in here, Akanishi Jin. There's plenty of warmth, here. It's a good heart. Full of love that never got used. It's so warm. Such a good heart. Such a good, _good_ heart.”

 

The letter reaches Shige's father some months later. The postmark is obscure, not something he ever remembers seeing. He looks at it under a magnifying glass, but can't make it out. He recognises the writing on the front, though, which makes him pause with his letter-opener. 

It's been a long time since he saw Shige off on his journey. He was never ready. This letter could contain anything. But his father is prepared for the worst. He takes the letter into his study, sits down amongst his charts and his globes and slowly opens it. 

The paper is thin, the handwriting varies between neat and uneven. The ink, a deep purple. Not a single word is scratched out. The letter has taken a long time to write, he thinks. It is honest. There's a feeling of dread building within him as his eyes scan the first page.

 

_Dear Father,_

_By the time you get this letter, I may be dead. You may never read it, I don't know. I'm making voyage for a cave, told to the crew in superstition. It's not something you'd approve of, I know. Superstition isn't science. But then, neither are stars, and you loved them, so I hope you can understand._

_I don't know if the cave exists, or what will happen if we do find it. There's talk of treasure, endless gold and things. If we find the cave and the riches, I'll bring some back and maybe then you'll be proud of me. My first voyage bringing back a haul, wouldn't that be something? Maybe then, I'd be something other than your failed son._

_I'm not writing to you out of anger, or pain, or...bitterness. Just confusion. Just, I'm learning all the time that what you taught me about life is wrong. Life isn't science. Human feelings are inexact. Forgiveness and understanding aren't weak because they're immeasurable. They're strong because of that._

_I know that you loved me, and my mother, in the best way you knew. I think that I'm falling in love, too. And I hope to do it in the best way I know how: without fear, without regret, without limitation. Without science. Life isn't measurable. It's what happens when you're not thinking, or watching, or doing that makes it worthwhile._

_I hope to see you again. But if not, I hope that you get this. I want you to know it. Not to hurt you. I just wanted you to know. You once told me that when I got older, I'd understand some of the things you said. I hope that now that I am older, you can understand some of the things I say._

_Your loving son,  
Shigeaki Kato. _

 

“Idiot,” Shigeaki Kato's father says, gruffly. Gently. “ _Idiot_.”


	2. 893

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written in 2007 and includes explicit sexual content and angst.

The problem with wanting to run the country someday is that it's exhausting. If you haven't vices before you start, you develop them along the way. Johnny Kitagawa comes under both categories: he had vices before but running for Prime Minister exaggerates them. He categorizes his weaknesses: smoking and drinking aren't brilliant, but not career-sinkers, mistresses are positively good news (unless his wife finds out) and his vehement dislike of healthy food, not too much of a problem. The rampant desire for good looking members of his party? Not so good. The rampant desire for young, male good looking members of his party? Very bad. 

Besides _that_ , the gambling addiction really doesn't look all that bad. 

Ironically, the reason he ends up in hot water is the second. Gambling. He can't remember when it started. He's always been a man to want to test the odds. Possibly it's a power thing: defeat the odds, you become greater than any other man alive. He's always liked power. That's the reason he ends up in hot water. He squanders a large sum of sponsorship, corporate backing, money he can't get back. Not only that, the casino bosses _really_ don't it when people don't pay up. It's not as if Johnny Kitagawa can just ask for a handout. He's one of the most well-known MPs currently standing position in Japan. So, he does the only thing that he can think of. 

When the first set of yakuza are sent out, Johnny Kitagawa assesses the odds. The head honcho's new recruit is young, not that experienced. Maybe 25 at the most. _Delicious_. He doesn't expect reciprocation, really. The point of the blowjob is merely to curry favour. That and well, rampant desire for good looking males. 

Despite his obvious prowess, the hopeful blowjob doesn't work, and word leaks out into the gangster world that one of Japan's more prestigious MPs gives blowjobs for favours. It's a lot worse than being in hot water for gambling. For that, Johnny Kitagawa realises that he could have asked for a handout. A little less pride, a little more forethought: it could have been done. For _this,_ for sucking off a young professional, he can ask for nothing. No help whatsoever. 

In short, he's _fucked_. 

 

They sit around in Akasaka Mitsuke, the men. There are seven of them. Johnny Kitagawa, though he doesn't know it yet, is fucked in seven individual ways. The head yakuza is the brother of the casino owner. The rest are hand-picked, each exemplary in intimidation, reconnaissance and torture. 

“What do his outstanding debts come to?” One of the yakuza asks. He's called Takauji, but this isn't his real name. The group name themselves, somewhat ironically, after different Japanese shoguns. This one of the yakuza, the youngest, is called Takauji. The rest sit around a makeshift table, rain dripping through the ceiling of the building and pooling in the corners. 

The head of the group calls himself Ieyasu. He is tall, bright-eyed, not altogether intimidating at first glimpse. He isn't the sort of man you'd expect to be a gangster. There's something about his face that's vivacious, ambitious, pleased with his own life. There are no lines on his face. 

“His debts,” he says, grandly. “Outnumber anything we've seen before. This guy is the real deal.¥57,360,979. Half a million US dollars. We're going to have a field day on this one.”

“Isn't this guy some MP? Trying to rule the country, isn't he?” Ienobu says. He's slight, weak-looking, but his eyes are sharp. 

“Yep,” Ieyasu says. “That's him. Turns out, he doesn't only have trouble managing his finances. You've heard what he did when our young recruit was sent out to put a little fear in him?”

There's nods around the table, slow, dark. Nobody is pleased about this. It undermines their power, for one thing, and a split in the chain is never a good thing for them. Secondly, it implies things about their recruits, social things, behavioural things, _homosexual_ things that aren't relevant to the cause. All of them know the drill. The life, the job, they come first. Everything else is just background noise, to be kept as quiet as humanly possible. 

“In any normal case,” Ieyasu continues. “I'd say we just go in, threaten to kill his loved ones, you know the drill. But I don't think he has any loved ones, a man like that. We'd have to go on verbal threat to his _person_ , and that's no fun.”

“Yeah,” Takauji says. “Last time we did that, they didn't even cry. It was shocking.”

“The worst we can do to this man is to damage his reputation,” Ieyasu goes on. “And even then, he'd recover. Politicians always do, they're like snakes. Cut off a head and another one grows. We can't prove anything. And if we tried, well, it wouldn't look good on our side. It wasn't as if Tego pushed him off, let's face it.”

“Well,” Yoshinori says. He's young, too, but thoughtful. Quick. “There must be something. Men like that don't get where they are without some kind of network. There must be somebody close to him. Something that'd damage him.”

“Honestly,” Ieyasu says. “I think the best way to do it isn't to think too much about it. Figure out the individuals closest to him, hunt them down and hurt them. It'll be a calling card. If he doesn't want to appease us after that, then we find and pick a couple more. Soon, he'll have to give in, or have no campaign left.”

“That's true,” Ienobu grins. “The one reputation you don't recover from is one responsible for a whole lot of killing. It's a nasty business.”

“Don't we know it,” Ieyasu says. “Find me his closest associates. I want profiles, last knowns, interesting stuff. If they have girlfriends, wives, kids, I want to know about it. Report back to me in twelve hours.”

 

Yamapi loads up the car outside the apartment. He's looking forward to a weekend away after the last few days. Protecting a damaged reputation is nasty business and he hasn't slept very well. The main problem with helping to run somebody else's campaign is that you take their sleeplessness for very little payoff. Johnny Kitagawa has slept soundly these last couple of days. It's important for him to put on a fresh face every day. Not so much for the likes of Yamapi, and Jin. 

“Jin,” he yells up, toward the apartment window. Jin sticks his head out. He's wearing his t-shirt around his neck, not yet pulled down. He looks ridiculous. 

“Have you packed the food?” he yells. “You're not eating it, are you?”

“I'm not eating it,” Jin yells back. “Who do you think I am? It's in the fridge still.”

His head retreats and Yamapi rolls his eyes. “I think you're the kind of person who'd eat all the food,” he grouches to himself. “Based on past experience.”

Jin hasn't been himself lately. Yamapi initially thought it was because he was tired, too, from all the campaign work they've been doing, but it seemed to start before that. There's nothing overt or physical about it. He doesn't look tired, drained, ill: just a little faded. As if some of the colour has been drawn out of him. It's strange to see it, and Yamapi is hoping that a weekend away will do the pair of them some good. 

Once he's finished loading the car with their bags, Yamapi takes the stairs two at a time to help Jin with the food. There's a lot of it, because they're compulsive nibblers and neither of them know when they'll be stopping for dinner. Jin is staring out of the window, fiddling with a chain around his neck. His hand is on the glass, and there's a shape in the condensation, an imprint of it. When he pulls it back, his hand is wet. He turns it over, looks at it, as if he's never seen it before.

“Jin?” Yamapi asks. His voice is tentative as he walks over. Jin turns his head, a bit vacantly, as if he's only heard the sound and not acknowledged Yamapi's presence. Yamapi stands behind him in the cold, empty room and wraps his arms around his waist. Resting his chin on Jin's shoulder, he squeezes just the once.

“We'll get away for a bit,” he says. “Take your mind off things.”

Jin nods, slowly. “Yeah,” he says, beginning to smile. “That'd be nice.”

“You're just tired,” Yamapi says. As if saying it could make it true. “You need to rest.”

“I think so,” Jin says. Yamapi turns him around, slowly, by the waist, until they're looking at each other and Yamapi can see just how colourless Jin really looks. He leans forward and kisses him, gentle and worried, until Jin wraps his arms around Yamapi's neck and things feel better again. 

“Have you got the food?” Yamapi asks. 

“It's in the fridge,” Jin replies, distractedly. “I tried to find the cooling box, but I got cold.”

“No problem,” Yamapi says. He strides over, looks in the cupboard underneath the sink. “I've got it.” 

He rummages through the fridge, slowly packing items into the cooling box. Jin turns around again, looking out of the window. Yamapi doesn't like to ask what he's looking at. It seems intrusive, cruel. It doesn't really matter what he's looking at, at the end of the day. There's just a part of Yamapi that feels that Jin is slipping away from him, and simple questions like those are ways of reconnecting. 

“Do you want me to take juice?” he asks. “There's peach. You like peach.”

“Yeah,” Jin says. “Take the peach. I like peach.”

Yamapi packs the peach juice. He packs sandwiches and biscuits and bananas. Some cold meat, some cold apples. It'll keep them going. He fixes the top on the cooling box and, swinging it from one hand, reaches for Jin's with the other. “We should go,” he says. “If you're done.”

“Huh?” Jin says. “Oh, sorry, yeah. I was just looking.”

“Anything interesting?” Yamapi says, trying to keep his voice jovial. He finds his coat, passes Jin's to him. The rack looks empty without them. The whole apartment looks too white, too clean, too spacious. As if nobody lives there anymore. Very, very strange.

“No,” Jin says, after a pause. “Somebody was lighting candles in the apartment across the street. It was pretty.”

“I'm glad I got you away,” Yamapi says, dryly. “Candles mean sex. I don't think they'd have appreciated you watching.”

Jin laughs, soft and under his breath. “I love candles,” he says. 

“You do?”

“I like the smoke.”

It's something Yamapi didn't know. He makes a mental note of it, wonders where he could get candles from along the way. 

“I didn't know that,” he says, as they walk down the stairs. 

“I've always liked candles,” Jin says. “It's the smoke. The way it sort of draws a picture in the air. Didn't I tell you?”

 

Unsurprisingly, Yoshinori is the one to come up with the goods. The group meet up again at the Hotel New Japan and some of them look more triumphant than others. Ienobu doesn't look at all pleased: he's had a difficult day down at the law offices. 

“Well?” Ieyasu says, steepling his fingers at the end of the table. “What have you for me?”

Yoshinori smirks and pushes a file across the table. It's red-bound, thick, full of information. Ieyasu takes a moment to leaf through it, nodding with pleasure at the detail Yoshinori has managed to procure. 

“Impressive,” he says, as he turns the pages. “Very impressive.”

Ienobu opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. 

“Yamashita Tomohisa and Akanishi Jin,” Ieyasu says. “You're sure?”

“Definite,” Yoshinori says. “Those are his campaign managers. He can't take a piss without consulting them first. Those are the ones you want first.”

“Good,” Ieyasu says. “Good work. You'll be rewarded, expect it.”

Yoshinori smiles, indulgently. Ienobu rolls his eyes.

“Do I know Akanishi Jin?” Ieyasu asks, suddenly. His eyes are slightly unfocused, as if the pupils have retreated into his brain to find the missing name. “I feel I've heard it before.”

The others think, hard. It's Ienobu's chance to shine: he's been around longer than Yoshinori. He knows more names, has seen more scandals and more successes, more failures. More of everything. But try as he might, he can't locate the missing name. Luckily for him, Yoshinori too seems to be struggling. Eventually, when no response is forthcoming, Ieyasu waves his hand.

“No matter,” he says. “It'll come to me. This is a good beginning. Yoshinori, I'll send you out to find them. Take Ienobu. The rest will remain behind to keep track of the progress of our victims, and to inform Yoshinori and Ienobu of their moves. Is that understood?”

It's a good beginning. Ieyasu sleeps soundly that night, as Yoshinori and Ienobu shoot out into the dark. 

 

They drive for some hours, Yamapi and Jin. Jin eats, stares out of the window. He's content. Sometimes, he winds down the glass and lets the air in, dangles his fingers out. Exactly as he used to do as a child, Yamapi supposes. They didn't know each other as children. They met somewhat later in life, teenagers, maybe. It might have been university. Yamapi's not entirely sure which year. He remembers the exact night, but not the year.

“Just remembering the night we met,” he says. There's a laugh in the words.

Jin looks across, narrows his eyes with thought. “There was that drunken party, at the lake. We'd travelled for hours to get there and when we got there, it was dull and dark and rubbish.”

“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “I was trying to pull.”

“I remember her. She was really nice.”

“She was okay,” Yamapi says. “We were getting along fine, and then someone fell into the water. Stupid. Was it Shirota? I don't remember. I had to pull them out, and she went off with someone else.”

“It was Shirota,” Jin says, thoughtfully. “I think. Could have been me. Maybe. I don't remember. It sounds like something I'd do. It sounds like something we'd both do.”

“We talked, somebody was wet,” Yamapi laughs. “That's all I remember. I'm glad I went. I'm glad she went off with someone else.”

“Me too,” Jin says, idly. He scratches his fingers down the glass. He looks hungry but he refuses the offer of dinner. Not late enough yet, he doesn't think. Yamapi keeps driving. Jin can drive but Yamapi doesn't trust him with it. Not at the moment. A good night of sleep will help, he's hoping. If it doesn't, then he's not sure what he'll do. But that's tomorrow's business.

 

Eventually, it gets dark, really dark. Dark enough so that they've missed dinner, dark enough to keep driving. Jin is already asleep. His breath covers the window with a soft layer. Yamapi imagines that it's foam, like the caps of the sea. His fingers are resting there, they've drawn little islands with their pads. He's snoring. 

There's not much to go on on the highway. Yamapi had thought that the lake was closer than this. It seemed that way, back at university. The last, small hotel was forty-five miles ago. After about five or ten minutes, he passes another sign for one, and slows down. It's time to go to bed. They can do the remaining miles in the morning, when it'll be better weather for the views. Jin's always liked nature: it'll be better for him to see it by day. 

It's hard, to wake Jin up. He doesn't want to do anything but sleep. When they climb out of the car and away, he leans on Yamapi, yawning. Yamapi has to nudge him off and make him take his bag, and he pouts like it's the very worst task in the whole world. It's half jest, prompted by Yamapi's begrudging smile, and they jostle as they walk through the hotel entrance. Yamapi feels sorry for the receptionist, as the clock says 10.20pm and she looks tired. As tired as he feels. 

“Please, do you have rooms?” he says. His voice comes out croaked, and he hopes it lends his plea some credit. She looks them both up and down. 

“Hotel's pretty empty, this time of year,” she says. “Presidential campaign and all. One night, is it? We've singles, twins...”

“Double,” Yamapi says. He doesn't want a fuss. There's always a fuss. Stupid, Japanese hotels. 

“Are you sure, sir? Our twins are just as reasonable...”

“It's not the price,” he says, brusquely. Jin is standing by the entrance, looking at leaflets advertising theme parks, tours, ghost walks. “It's a double we're after. Specifically.”

She nods in a jilted, surprised sort of way and takes his credit card. 

“Jin,” he calls over. “See if you can find a map. Are there maps of the area?”

“There'll be a complimentary map in your room, sir,” the receptionist says, tone somewhat less helpful. It's a response Yamapi is used to, and so he ignores it. Jin takes a stack of leaflets, he likes to look through them, even the attractions he'll never visit, and they head up to the room. It's on the top floor, naturally. The furthest away from all civilization. They take the lift, which stutters and jerks in a pleasingly cliched sort of way. 

“I hope the lightbulb flickers,” Yamapi whispers, lips next to Jin's ear. Jin shivers, pleased. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“Because the rest of this place is just so...seedy. It'd fit, right?”

“It's just the way these places are, I think,” Jin says. He's pressing up against Yamapi, wanting less talk about hotels and more action in hotels. Hotel. Yamapi runs his free hand down Jin's back, feeling the warmth through his t-shirt. No longer sleepy, then. They exit the elevator, push through the door. The room is small, dark, but not unwelcoming. Cosy in a strange sort of way. They put the bags down on the carpet, Yamapi turns from the door and then-

Jin is kissing him. Kissing him in a way that plants him, back to the wall, at Jin's absolute mercy. Not that he's complaining. He runs his hands across Jin's face and kisses him back, equally hard. It's been a while. A month, possibly. They've both been so busy and Jin has been so odd, and he can't believe it's been that long, kissing Jin, because it's all so warm and so good. 

He runs his hands down Jin's back and half-lifts him closer, as Jin presses his hips into Yamapi's. The door taps idly on its hinges, not properly closed. Yamapi pulls Jin's t-shirt off. Jin digs hands into Yamapi's trousers, working buttons and zippers and belts. And then he's down on his knees, Jin, all softness and light and warmth, with his mouth around Yamapi's dick like he's been waiting a month for it. Yamapi tilts his head back, a whoosh of breath leaving him out of the blue. He can feel himself hardening. Looking down, Jin is smirking around him. Triangular mouth. Big, dark eyes. Great, big heart. 

“Fuck,” he says. “I've missed this.”

Something turns over in Jin's expression, subtle and instantaneous, as if pieces fall into place for a minute and then everything de-focuses once more. Jin smiles, when he's out of focus again. The moment of clarity is gone and Jin smiles again. Yamapi would ask, what happened in that moment, but Jin starts to suck, then, and all thought is lost. 

Yamapi's breath comes harder and harder, his grip on Jin's hair tighter by the minute. Jin seems to relish this, though he never has before. The rougher Yamapi is, the harder and faster Jin sucks. His eyes are glued to Yamapi's face. There's darkness in them, but it isn't threatening. Just somehow alive. Yamapi cries out. Jin cries out, too, but it's quieter and it rumbles in the throat so that Yamapi can feel it in his cock. He throws his hand back against the door frame. It rattles, hard, and the door finally shuts with both their weights against it. As it does, a cool, hard slam, Jin's hand reaches over his. First it clamps down, hard. Then, it clasps, and they hold onto each other as Yamapi loses control completely. 

The yelling, he thinks. He hopes they have no neighbours. His voice is hoarse. Jin is wet-mouthed and smiling again. He sits back on his heels, then lies back on the floor. Props himself up on his arms. Yamapi shrinks to the ground beside him, laughing and trying to breathe. He doesn't bother doing himself up. 

He regrets this, some nine minutes, thirty three seconds later. Ten, then. Ten minutes. There's a weird tapping sound on the wall of the next room. It started a couple of minutes after they finished, but Yamapi wasn't conscious enough to realise it. Jin never notices small details, not at the moment. The tapping gets progressively louder, as if something is moving along the wall. Jin gets up, laughing, and follows the noise around. He twirls, and Yamapi watches him, glad. 

Only then, the tapping leaves the wall altogether. The door to the room opens, and somebody walks out. Jin moves to the door, still giggling, and before Yamapi can say, “no, don't”, he's opened it. It's part of the game. He peeks his head out and a man turns back. He's wearing a white jacket, and there are red stains on it. Jin's eyes widen and he draws himself back, gasping as if he's just swallowed water. 

“What?” Yamapi is saying. “What? What is it?” 

And of course, he has to put his head around the door, too. That's when the man turns, full around. Time seems to go more slowly, until it crawls. Until it's barely moving at all. Three pair of eyes meet. The strange man's are wild and wide. There's blood on his face and hands. Yamapi thinks that he can see it fly from him as the man turns back, breaks into a run. He goes for the stairs. Yamapi can't even think. Jin slides down the wall. He can barely breathe. 

That's the moment time speeds up. Chooses to leave the two of them caught in a horrendous moment whilst it whooshes past, every passing second making them guiltier and guiltier.

“What do we do?” Yamapi says. “What do we do? Fuck. Fuck. I don't. What's happening. Why is it happening. Police! We need to call. Jin, we need to call the police.”

Jin opens his eyes, and they're wet, and they're scared, and Yamapi can't think about that or he'll lose his nerve as well. He stumbles over him, and makes for the 'phone on the bedside table. 

 

“There's been a problem,” Takauji reports. Not Ieyasu's favourite words, but he's heard them before and he'll hear them again. They're not exactly unfamiliar.

“Go on,” he says. It's dawn. Some ten hours have passed since he sent Ienobu and Yoshinori on their way. If they've been delayed, they can still catch up to Yamapi and Jin. Some problems aren't really problems. Just niggles. Small hitches. Some, on the other hand-

“They checked into a hotel,” Takauji says. “We were informed by the night manager. He has connections. He'll be wanting paid for it.”

“Yes,” Ieyasu says. “I understand how it works. I almost invented the idea.”

“Anyway,” Takauji goes on. “Apparently, some sort of crime was committed in the hotel overnight. The two of them were held up in police questioning all night. We can't touch them, or it'll look as though we were involved.”

Ieyasu puts his hands on the desk, thinking. Much as he's loathe to admit it, Takauji is right. There's only so much yakuza can push the police. He's learnt that, over the years. 

“Where are Yoshinori and Ienobu?”

“Last we heard, sir,” Takauji is looking at his logs. “They were thirty miles from the hotel. We don't know which station the two are being held in. How do you want us to proceed?”

“I'm not sure,” Ieyasu says. “What was the crime? I'll need to see the reports.”

“A woman was killed,” Takauji shrugs. “Normal one. Sex crime, probably. Some guy offed her. She could have been a hooker. The hotel rents by the hour.”

“Hm,” Ieyasu says. “I'll need more information. Somebody else could have done this. Planted a crime scene next door. Stranger things have happened. We're not the only group after Johnny Kitagawa's blood, his money. I need more information. Tell Yoshinori and Ienobu to gather me more information. And let me see everything you can get here. Police reports, news articles, anything. Sad, tearful requests from the parents, crime scene photographs, anything.”

“Understood,” Takauji says. “What will you do?”

It's a mistake, but he doesn't know it yet. Underlings do not ask questions of their bosses. But Ieyasu just smiles. “Not your concern,” he says. “Just find me as much information as you can. Imagine you're the night manager.”

“I'm being paid according the amount of information I can get?”

“No,” Ieyasu says. “Imagine that you're working hard so that someone will protect you. Nobody trusts in the police anymore. We will protect you, Takauji, but only if you're loyal. Remember that. As long as your loyalty holds out, so will we be here for you. But only that long.”

“Understood,” Takauji says. But it isn't strictly true. Not by half.

 

They give the police all the information they can, and their alibi checks out. The security camera catches them in the lift at the time of the murder, which is both a relief and an embarrassment. They sit in a room together, Yamapi and Jin and the policeman, watching Yamapi hitting on Jin in a lift. To be honest, Yamapi is surprised that such a small, seedy place has security videos at all but it turns out that places that rent by the hour are wise to include it in the service. Apparently, there's been a string of working girls being murdered. The man they're after isn't Yamapi, or Jin. They don't know his name. Jin's hands are shaking. Yamapi reaches for one. 

The policemen let them go, after taking fingerprints, statements, DNA, the whole shebang. There's nothing to hold them on and Yamapi's glad to get away. He doesn't want to speak to Johnny Kitagawa about it. Half of him is hoping that his boss hasn't heard. Maybe it hasn't hit the news across the wider area of Tokyo. It's entirely possible. He and Jin walk across the parking lot, Jin's arms across his body. He no longer looks as if he wants a holiday. He looks as if he's watery, somehow. As if the colour is gone but the water remains. If he were touched, your hand would go straight through. 

“We'll carry on,” Yamapi says, unlocking the door. “Put it out of our minds. I was thinking we could go up to the lake. What do you think?”

Jin thinks about this. “I just can't stop thinking about it.”

They sit in the car. The radio plays something hard, trashing. Rock and roll. Yamapi puts it off. He hates that sort of music. 

“I can't stop thinking about it, either,” he says. “Is that all that's on your mind?”

Jin looks at him, and for a moment, it's like he's tempted to say something. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is, “I don't know. I feel different.”

“Different?”

“I don't know. I don't understand it.”

Yamapi nods. He shares that feeling. “We'll go on to the lake. I think you need a rest.”

They drive, and Jin runs his hand down the window again. He looks up at the mountains and the trees and the birds circling the sky and he tries to feel hopeful. It's an effort these days, to feel anything. Not because he's numb, or anything like that. More because the ability to feel seems lost. It's like he's re-training his heart. As if a major road has been crossed off, and his emotions are re-routing. It's the only way to explain it. It's as if he has feelings, but no way of feeling them. They are something that he knows exist, but feels no impact of. He can't explain this to Yamapi, so he just says, different. It's a word that says so many different things, all at once.

 

“Yoshinobu,” Ieyasu says, to the dark. Everyone else has gone home. The eighth man does not attend the meetings that the other seven attend. This is partly because the other seven mistrust him and partly because he is Ieyasu's favourite. Having favourites is a dangerous practice in the yakuza world, and so Ieyasu talks to Yoshinobu alone at nights. 

“Yes,” Yoshinobu says. He is small, rotund, visually the opposite of Ieyasu. They make an interesting pair. Or, they would, if anyone would dare come near the Hotel New Japan. Excellent meeting place, really. People stay away from it for two reasons: it's a yakuza headquarters, and also a haunted building. They just don't realise that the yakuza who reside there are the ghosts, too. 

“How is it going?” Ieyasu asks. “Takauji is out, running for information. The others are involved elsewhere. I have a knack at finding menial tasks for them. You may speak.”

“Yoshinori and Ienobu are away?”

“They are.”

“I will speak.” Yoshinobu isn't like Ieyasu in manner. He speaks with elderly grace and self-importance, but is not lacking in wisdom. His face is wrinkled with careful experience and his movements slow. He takes long pauses between words, sentences. Ieyasu is all modern charm, vitality. Unusually warm-blooded for a gangster. Yoshinobu's mould is more old-fashioned: ice-cold, quiet, deadly. 

“The two of them make for the lake,” Yoshinobu says. “They attempt to forget. They attempt to forget what you made them see. They want to relax at the lake. They take no heed of who, or what, may be on their trail. If you wish to strike, you must do so when their hearts are rich and peaceful.”

“When will they be most rich, peaceful? I allowed them to see something...horrible. At your urging! And now you tell me that they must be calm, in order for this to work?”

“Yes,” Yoshinobu says. He takes a while to chew over his thoughts. “Nobody is more at peace than in the moments of sharp relief, cast on them by a traumatic experience. They are together and they are in love. Peace will come to them. I have taken their petty cares from them. Their minds will not be rugged with small, silly concerns. Like the ancient warriors before us, their minds will be peaceful. Wiped of all but the peace that is around them.”

“I see,” Ieyasu says. “I see. That is very wise.”

“You must take the brighter one down first,” Yoshinobu says. “He is protective. He has strong energy. He shines brightly. The other is weak. You have weakened him. There are things that his partner cannot do for him. He's wandering, alone, unsure. Things trouble him.”

“Things trouble him?”

“You took from him a most important organ,” Yoshinobu says impatiently. “Without it, he must relearn life itself. He must try to cope without it. It is a long and delicate process. It weakens him.”

Ieyasu nods, very slowly. The two of them sit in silence. 

“Do the others know, of what you have done?” Yoshinobu asks. His tone is disapproving, a touch more so than usual. 

“No,” Ieyasu says. “I tested them. Not one could recall the name Akanishi Jin. Figures, it was a long time ago. None of them were very...acutely aware of themselves, back then. They all seemed to be asleep. It's taken years, to find them all hearts. Do you know how rare it is? To find a good heart?”

“Indeed,” Yoshinobu says. “It's getting rarer by the year. You young people are sick inside. It's a sickness, modernity.”

“You must have been searching forever, then,” Ieyasu says. “Don't tell me you're not looking. Your light is strong, but it lessens every time we meet. You're getting old. You need a heart, too. A good one. A strong one. Rich with feeling. One like mine. It will go on for centuries.” Ieyasu palms his chest as he speaks. His eyes close. 

“It would have gone on longer, if you'd gotten all of it. You youngsters, you are so inept. To have left the dagger behind. To have left it behind, with the outline of his heart on it...! The mind can't even begin to comprehend it. How you could be so stupid, as to let them run. To let them escape with the dagger. The mess you're in is your own doing.”

“I didn't think that they would have the forethought-” Ieyasu's eyes are open, now. Angrily open.

“Yes, well. Some youngsters are surprisingly ingenuous. You must get it back. You must. And as for me...I shall keep looking. I've looked for long enough. I want the perfect heart. I don't want to botch it up, like you. I suppose your men, they have sub-standard hearts?”

“Not as perfect as mine, true,” Ieyasu says, somewhat placated. “I expect yours will be the best of all.”

“A whole heart,” Yoshinobu says. It's as if he can hardly breathe. “Soon.”

“Find them,” Ieyasu says. His tone roughens, he sits up straight. “Find them. And send them another vision. Use the boy I found to do it. I don't want them to forget too easily. I want their peace to be hard-won. I want them both to feel.”

“Jin does not _feel_ -”

“Jin can do things he isn't aware of,” Ieyasu says. “Make him aware of them. I want that last piece alive. I want it red, hot, beating. I want my heart to be perfect. As perfect as it was in his body.”

 

When they arrive at the lake, it's mid-afternoon, and Jin helps Yamapi to unload the car. He takes Yamapi's hand as they walk through to the accommodation area – it's new, wasn't there when they were kids, when they were forced to erect tents and the like – which is newly furnished. The paint still has a scent. Yamapi puts the bags down on the floor, and Jin reaches for his wallet. It's his turn to do battle with the receptionists. 

The receptionist is a little old lady. It's unusual for a hotel to employ older staff, particularly a fresh, new-build, but the lady has a nice face and she's respectful as the two of them approach. She bows her head, and Jin awkwardly reciprocates.

“Have you any log cabins free at the moment?” he asks. “I know they're popular.”

She looks slowly through the computer database. “Yes,” she says eventually. “We do have a few free. Do you want one right beside the lake? They'll cost you more.”

Jin looks at Yamapi. They nod and smile together, secret language. “Yes,” he says. “We'd like that one.”

“Twin?”

“Double.”

She taps away. “That's fine,” she says, without changing expression. Yamapi narrows his eyes at Jin, who has the luck of the devil, he thinks. Jin is smirking. Yamapi goes to look for leaflets. 

“There's your key,” she says, sliding a small, plastic key chain across the counter. Not a key card, and Jin hates key cards, so that's a good sign. A proper key. “It's 893.”

“893?”

“Yes. The cabins are numbered oddly here. Must be the new way of doing things. There are ten cabins. 134, 278, 395, 432, 573, 605, 743, 893, 902 and 1054. Isn't that strange?”

“Very,” Jin says. “I don't think the new way suits me.”

“Me neither,” she admits. “It's hard for an oldie like me to fit in.”

Jin smiles at her. “You're doing fine. I don't think I could have remembered those numbers.”

“Ah, it's practice. Now, there's a small display on the lake every other night at 8pm. Small fireworks, candles on the surface of the water. A little bit of dancing, that sort of thing. It's free of charge to all our guests, so please do go and see it.”

“Will do,” Jin says. “Thank you.”

He catches up with Yamapi, who is looking through a huge stack of leaflets. “There's a big steakhouse nearby,” he says. “They do this all you can eat gig at 8pm. If you manage two big steaks each, the meal is free.” He looks up at Jin with his eyes all lit up. Jin is almost salivating. They both do like steak. 

“There's a display on the lake at 8pm,” Jin says. “Fireworks and candles and things.”

 _I love candles_ , Yamapi remembers. He never did find a place to pick them up for Jin. The least he could do is-

“Do you want to go?” he asks. “I'm good with anything.”

“We could do steak afterwards?” Jin suggests. “Fireworks and candles sound good to me.”

Yamapi smiles. “Sounds good.”

 

893 is a little away from 902, so much that Jin can only see into the corner of the window. There's a woman in the kitchen, washing up. Other than that, the landscape is peaceful. All he can see is water and trees. It's like sitting on the corner of the world. He sits in the large bay window and watches the birds fly down, skim across the surface of the water. There's barely a wave: the air is clear, the breeze is still. Perfect weather. 

Yamapi has unpacked, or tried to. There's stuff everywhere. Jin's clothes are all over the bed. Yamapi's food is all over the kitchen table. It looks like their apartment: lived in. Yamapi comes over to the bay window, sits down. They look at the birds together, Yamapi with his hand in Jin's. Jin looks happy. Restful. 

“Happy?” Yamapi says. 

Jin looks at him, smiling. “Yup,” he says. 

“That bird looks like Shige,” Yamapi says. “It has that same face. Tentative. I think it's wondering whether it fits it with the other birds.”

“It looks like it's worried about stuff,” Jin says. “What do birds have to worry about?”

“Same as humans, I guess,” Yamapi says. “Where the next meal is coming from.”

Jin looks over to the kitchen in the opposite cabin. A man has joined the woman in the kitchen. He is behind her, his arms around her waist. She rests her fingers on the glass. Suddenly, it all seems too familiar. Jin's fingers on the glass, Yamapi behind him. And then he sees the man's face, and he audibly gasps. 

Yamapi looks across, at that. They both look, right into the eyes of the man. It's him, alright. It can't be anybody else. Only now, he doesn't look like a wild animal. There's no blood on his hands or face. The white suit is gone. The woman with him is laughing. It's a picture of a happily married couple. 

“Maybe it's just somebody who looks like him,” Yamapi says. “Really like him.”

“It's him,” Jin says. He's breathless. “It's definitely him.”

“It can't be him,” Yamapi says. “It can't be.”

“We're going for steaks,” Jin says. “Later. I don't want to be walking around the lake with him. Even if it isn't him. Shouldn't we call the police?”

“We've no proof that it's him. We didn't even see him that well. If it's an innocent man, then...”

“The boss will hear about it. Right.” Jin chews on a thumbnail. 

“It's alright,” Yamapi says. “I really don't think that it's him. He wouldn't be allowed in, if it were. His face is on the local news. That woman at the desk would have seen him and called the police. It'll be fine. Don't worry.”

 

They go for steaks. Jin likes his rare, Yamapi well-done. They easily manage two steaks each, which isn't a surprise to either of them. Jin loves steak. It's probably his favourite food. They put the image of earlier out of their minds, laughing about the good old days. It's been so long since Jin felt so much at peace. Being with Yamapi does that. Being at the lake, too, he supposes. It's as if the small pieces of himself are slowly flying back to him. Every moment, it gets easier to feel. The clear air, the good company – that must be to blame. 

“What do you want to do, after this run?” Yamapi asks. “If he goes higher and higher, the boss. Eventually, he may be elected. Do you want to do this...forever?”

“No,” Jin says. “Probably not. It's okay, you know? The money is good, the work's interesting. But it isn't forever. I just don't know what forever is.”

“No, me neither,” Yamapi says. “I've never known. I just knew I didn't want to work in an office. Type all day. I wish we could be birds instead.”

“Just fly everywhere?” Jin laughs. “Yeah, that'd be fun.”

“Have the freedom to travel anywhere, everywhere,” Yamapi says. “Imagine that. In this world, we have to drive, or find a plane, find a mode of transport that inevitably costs a month's salary. Imagine being a bird, and being able to do it for free, on a whim.”

“Where would you go?”

“I don't know,” Yamapi says. “America, maybe. Europe. The North Pole! Possibilities are endless. Could go anywhere.”

“Birds don't live very long,” Jin reckons. “You wouldn't have much time.”

“All the more reason to be a bird!” Yamapi says. “Everything would mean more.”

 

The man cries out as his legs move underneath him. _Not again_. He can't understand why this is happening. Why this has been happening. As if it isn't bad enough, what happened last time. He's a happily married man. There's going to be children, he thinks, not long now. It's definitely in the pipeline. And suddenly, he's become somebody he doesn't know. His legs walk where they want to go, and he has no control. 

He killed that woman. Slept with her, then murdered her. The police are probably after him. He won't escape. He'll have to go to prison. His life, as he knows it, will be over. He wants to be sick but he's walking somewhere and he has no time for it. His hands open the door. His legs walk out. 

The night is dark. The ground is cold. A piece of paper materializes in his hand. He tries to drop it, but he can't. He cries out again, more quietly. _Why me?_ He walks over to cabin 893. The fireworks shoot into the sky. The flames burn on the lake's surface. He looks at the paper. Letters appear in the middle of the vast, empty space. His hand goes to his pocket, brings out the dagger. 

_No_ , he thinks. Please, _no_.

He reaches the door. His hand rises, and with hard knocks, he attaches the paper to the door with the dagger. When he is satisfied with his handiwork, his legs take him back to his own cabin. As he moves through his own door, his legs become weak and his own, again. He falls to the floor and struggles to breathe through the sensation of water in his lungs.

 

When they return to the cabins, it's past 10pm. After getting two free steaks, the two of them felt bad for the losses incurred by the restaurant, and so ordered some dessert. Some dessert turned into a lot and, well, both of them are giggling when they trek over the hill towards their cabin. Everything is as they left it: the light on in the sitting room, everything else dark and homely. Only outside the door is a small note. It's pinned to the door with a small, rusted knife. 

“Very Clint Eastwood,” Yamapi says. “It's probably from the cleaning service. They took one look at the mess and cried.”

Jin takes down the note, leaves the knife. 

_I missed you at the show_. 

He silently passes it to Yamapi, who reads it in the moonlight. He gets his keys out, unlocks the door. They walk through, and shut it, hard. 

“What does that mean?” Jin is repeating, over and over. Yamapi flees through the rooms, throwing opens doors to rooms, wardrobes, the shower curtain, the cupboards. There is nobody there. He shuts all of the windows and all of the doors and goes back to Jin, who is looking into the log cabin opposite them.

“He's there!” he's saying. “He's in the kitchen, staring out of the window.”

“Maybe it's somebody else,” Yamapi says. “Is there anyone else?”

“The receptionist!” Jin says breathlessly. “She said we should go. And she knows our cabin number! It's bound to be her.”

They laugh, nudging shoulders. “God, we're idiots,” Yamapi says. “Shows how much work is getting to us.”

But neither of them relax. Jin turns his face, with its big, dark eyes and his nibbled lip. They kiss, instead, because that makes them feel soothed, normally. Only this time it's heated, Jin's hands are flurried, and his breath comes hard. The excitement has done something to him, and to Yamapi too, because they start pulling at each other's clothes. Yamapi's shirt goes, first, and then Jin's joins it. They make short, turning work of the kitchen. The stairs are harder, with Yamapi's jeans undone and Jin falling over him to get to the bedroom. They walk through the door and Jin collapses onto the bed, pulling Yamapi down on top of him. It makes getting his jeans off that little bit harder, but Yamapi doesn't care. There's nothing quite like looking down at Jin's face, lit up and happy and horny and true. Nothing quite like that. 

Once Yamapi's jeans are off, Jin wriggles out of his sweatpants and they lie together, shirking off underwear, until naked skin is on naked skin and it's right, at last. It didn't feel right in the hotel, but it feels right now. Jin looks up at Yamapi and his face is peacefully frantic, which makes no sense but then little does. 

“I need you,” he says, and he does. It's obvious. “I need you to fuck me.”

As if that could make him whole. As if that could make the niggling terror vanish. It can, though, Yamapi thinks. They kiss some more. Yamapi leans over the edge of the bed, finds lube and condoms, rolls back onto Jin. Jin opens the packet with his teeth, it's his party trick. He's good at it. Yamapi's party trick is good preparation, and Jin is a happy observer. Observing becomes participation with Jin, though. As Yamapi's fingers wriggle inwards, so Jin's hips undulate, getting himself off. Yamapi smacks his arse with the other hand, “oi,” he says. “Stop that.”

But Jin doesn't, because Jin's enjoying it too much. He smirks, eyes lidded, making little moans. It's a game, a tease. Yamapi always gives in far too fast. Yamapi moves Jin's legs upwards, removes fingers more harshly than Jin probably deserves. Jin grunts with displeasure, but before he can reach the last syllable Yamapi is between his legs and gently pushing, so he wisely closes his mouth and screws up his face. As Yamapi moves inside him, Jin's lips fall open again and he makes the purest, most indecent sound it's possible to make. 

Yamapi closes his eyes to it, ragged breath in his lungs. “Jin,” he says. “Jin, shut up.”

Jin's voice is breathless. “Want me to be silent, do you, that turn you on, huh,” 

“No,” Yamapi says. “No, no, no, just, fuck, stop making that noise.”

“Will you come? If I make that noise.”

“ _Jin_ ,”

“Sorry.”

“Can I-”

“Yes,” Jin says. “Fuck, yes.”

So Yamapi does. He lies down, his arms by the sides of Jin's face. Jin moves his hips up as Yamapi thrusts inside, in and out, to and fro, forward and back. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jin is saying, and Yamapi is biting hard on his own lip because the combination of that and the warm, wet tightness envelops him in something it's impossible not to want to give into. It's perfect, rich, hard, true. And Jin only gets more and more frantic by the second. His hands turn to little claws, his head throwing back. Yamapi takes his shoulder between his teeth and bites, to keep the noise back, the loud cries that want their say. His hips move fast, too fast, too hard, and Jin's bash into his. Two hands entwine on the sheets, the others find each other between their bodies. Neither of them want to give up on Jin's cock, so they don't, both of them wanking him off together. Jin's hand is rough and so Yamapi's is moreso, until Jin's voice is high and loud enough to wake the dead. 

“I can't,” he's trying to say. “I can't. I can't. I can't.”

He means 'last', Yamapi knows, he can't last, but he can't begin to think clearly, so he almost stops and then Jin cries out and pulls him down harder. Then, he thinks better of it and pushes Yamapi back. The movement pulls Yamapi out, which confuses him and infuriates him both at once. He moans, hard, because it _hurts_ , the sudden absence. But then Jin climbs into his lap, and reaches behind, pushes Yamapi inside him so fast Yamapi's head spins. He moans again, much louder, much longer, has to bite his mouth and count to ten. Only Jin is trying to kiss his mouth, so that doesn't work, and he has to say:

“Jin, I'm not going to. I'm not-”

Jin is shaking his head. His hair is soaking, and his neck is soaking, and his jaw is soaking, and the movement sends little droplets of sweat all over Yamapi's collarbone. He's wet, too. He hadn't realised it. 

Jin knows. Jin always knows. He rocks backwards and forwards so hard and so fast that Yamapi worries he's going to hurt himself, tries to steady him with his hands on Jin's hips but it doesn't work, so he grabs his cock instead, strokes to the same rhythm. Jin's hands are in his hair, then, and he's making a sound that's almost a scream. With a roar, a sound that reaches the ceiling and spreads out flat, Jin comes and clashes his chest into Yamapi's. His head arches back, his eyes screwed tight and his body so hot and so tight that Yamapi isn't long after him. He laps his tongue up Jin's neck, over his chin, which he captures between teeth, and then that's it. He comes and comes and comes, his face by Jin's jawline, his mouth painting a picture on Jin's neck. 

They're both soaking. The bed is soaking. The world is soaking. They open their soaking, lidded eyes and look at each other. And there is nothing else in the universe, but this and them. 

 

“They are ready,” Yoshinobu says. Ieyasu hears his voice, though they are miles apart. One of their party tricks. “Their hearts beat rapidly. Jin is alight. You will never have another chance like this one. The dagger is on the door.”

The reception desk is empty. The old woman takes strides through the building and then vanishes, a coil of smoke. The smoke curls over the ground, staying away from the water. The smoke curls around the trees and through the grass. The smoke curls around cabin 893. 

 

Ryo looks out of the window. He can't sleep. He sees the smoke curling around cabin 893. And before he can think about it, he makes his legs work for himself. The smoke curls upwards, around the dagger he's placed upon the door. And he thought that it was harmless. 

This is the force that's ruined his life. He rushes to his door, opens it. The smoke pauses, if smoke can pause, and turns to him.

“Why did you do this to me?” he calls, across the night. “You made me do terrible things-”

The figure materializes. There's a man, tall, transparent. It's a ghost. “I needed somebody who didn't matter. If you're traced back to the deaths, and found guilty, and if you go to prison, or if you're killed, it doesn't matter. To anybody. It matters if I'm found guilty. You were a pawn.”

“Am I now free?” Ryo's voice is wrecked. “Am I now free?”

“You are now free,” Ieyasu says. His legs turn to wisps, his body coiling away. The sound echoes over the lake. 

 

Yamapi opens his eyes. He heard something. He's sure that he heard something. Jin is fast asleep, half on him. They're naked and still wet, the blankets nowhere to be seen. And it's freezing. The whole room feels deathly cold. 

“Jin,” Yamapi says. He nudges him. “Something isn't right. Jin.”

Jin's eyelids are cranky. Jin shoves him, a bit. “I'm tired. Go back to sleep.”

“No, Jin, something-”

Jin opens his eyes. “What,” he says, and it's a whine. 

Yamapi sits up, looks out of the window. “Something isn't right. I can feel it.”

“Oh,” Jin says. He climbs out of bed, stretching, looking around. “You left one of the candles on. I'll go blow it out. I really like the smoke.” 

He's halfway to the sitting room before Yamapi realises.

“Jin, I didn't light any-”

And then he breaks into a run. Jin is frozen to the spot. A tall man stands before him, with a dagger in his hand. And something uncurls in Yamapi's mind. He's been here before. He can't have been, but he has. Somehow, he knows that he has. And Jin looks at him, and the very same expression is playing out on his face. 

He trawls through his brain, trying to find the mysterious thing he's looking for, but nothing comes. Just blurring images, childhood, university, he and Jin. Nothing like this. Nothing as familiar as this feels. The man stands before Jin, with a dagger in his hand. The dagger from the door. The man is transparent, and laughing.

“What do you want?” Jin says. His voice is tiny. “You're not-”

“To finish what I started,” the man says. “Long ago. This dagger has gone cold. Please touch it.”

“I don't want to-”

“You should touch the dagger,” the man says. “It's gone so, so cold.”

Yamapi feels as though he can't breathe. As if he's searching underwater for something and his lungs are filling up with water, but he can't rise to the surface until he remembers where he's seen all of this before. 

“Who are you?” he asks, desperate. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man isn't looking at him. He's looking at Jin. Staring into his eyes. Jin isn't saying anything, anymore. Jin looks slowly at the dagger, as if he's considering taking it. Jin reaches out, and the man places the dagger in his hands. Nothing happens. Perhaps it's a dream, Yamapi thinks. Perhaps it's just one of those nonsensical dreams-

“Draw it across your chest,” the man says, and suddenly, like being hit by lightning, images come back to Yamapi. It's a roar, of noise and of memory and of lost, lost time. Water. The sea. A ship. Another life, a heart, a cave. Riddles, a map. A dagger and a heart. A good, _good_ heart. 

And Jin, Jin is transfixed. His body is no longer his own. He takes the dagger toward his chest.

“Jin,” Yamapi cries out. “Jin! Give it to me! Give it to me!”

Jin turns to him, slowly. His eyes are soaking wet. His mouth is parted. The colour is gone. The colour is gone. 

“I love you,” Yamapi says. “You know that I love you. Give it to me.”

“Don't give it to him,” Ieyasu says. “His heart is weak. Your heart is so good. So, so good. Just this little, last sliver. Just to make me complete. You remember being complete? That's what I want. You cannot love as you are. Give me the last sliver.”

They were in a cave. They couldn't leave the cave. They were pirate ghosts, confined to the cave. They transform, but have no substance of their own. They are not human. Yamapi can see what he should do, but Jin is weak, and he doesn't trust that he won't-

Jin moves across to him, gasping with the pain of it. Yamapi's eyes dart to Ieyasu, whose eyes are angry and surprised. There's a bond on Jin's legs. Yamapi suddenly realises that Jin is breaking a supernatural bond. After three steps, he's crying out. Yamapi makes up the rest, takes the dagger from him. And then, then he senses that they've only one chance. 

Once the dagger is in Yamapi's hand, the bond is lost. 

“Run!” Yamapi cries out, pulling Jin by the hand. They run, down and out the door, down to the lake. They're followed by curling smoke, running barefoot down the banks and towards the water. Jin seems to understand. They're running together, hands tight, almost falling over twigs and bits of branch but nothing has ever been more important than this. 

When they reach the waterfront, the smoke curls high and above them and so Yamapi doesn't waste another moment. He reaches his arm high and throws the dagger as far as he can with all of his might. It soars, paints an arc in the dark sky, and then falls somewhere in the middle of the water. Lost. Jin is holding onto his waist. Everything is deathly quiet. 

When they turn around, the smoke is gone. 

 

_“I told you that you must take the brighter one down first,” Yoshinobu says. His voice sounds critical even across the distance. “You did not.”_

_“I had the dagger,” Ieyasu is saying. “In my hand. It was so close. I could hear his heart beating.”_

_“What happened, in that moment?”_

_“He felt. I told you, the boy knows how to feel. He may not have a heart, but he can feel. He felt, and he broke the bond. I had his heart in my hand, and he broke my bond. And now-”_

_“It's lost.”_

_“For now.”_

 

Takauji comes out of the bushes. He is very faint, his light fading fast. Yamapi and Jin catch their breath, waiting on bated breath. 

“He will come back,” he gasps. “He will return. He always does. Be prepared. Be prepared for it.”

“Do I know you?” Yamapi says. He seems familiar. People always seem to be familiar, these days. 

Takauji falls to the ground, becomes smoke once again. Smoke seeps into the ground, vanishes. 

“Yamapi,” Jin says, slowly. “It was Shige.”

It doesn't make sense, but then little does, about this. Yamapi tries to reconjure the memories, but nothing comes. It's as if his mind, so clear five minutes ago, has now returned to its usual state. A clean, blank slate. Jin is weak beside him, no more the wiser to explain all that's happened. Try as he might, Yamapi can't remember any of the things that were so clear to him. 

“He'll come again,” Yamapi says. “That's what he said.”

Jin looks at him. His eyes are soft, his lip bitten. He's trying to remember. Nothing comes to mind easily. Eventually, he manages to say, and it's exhausted and desperate, “Who will?”

Yamapi thinks about this, hard. “I don't know,” he says. “I don't know.”


	3. Drop It On A Dime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written in 2007 and includes explicit sexual content and angst.

The thing is, Jin doesn't lose. Sure, Yamapi probably doesn't, either. Yamapi doesn't plan to lose, but he will. Jin doesn't lose anything. And this, this is no different. It's why he's already started his campaign. 

Tego, his assistant's assistant, fusses around him in the dressing room. “You look fine. Great,” he's saying. He's nervous, not long on the job. He'll learn. 

Jin eyes him in the mirror. “I know,” he says, grinning. Tego grins back, after a moment of thought. 

When he walks out into the shoot, the crew turn to stare. It's the attitude. The sex appeal. Or the fact that he just looks, that he knows he looks, searingly hot. There's a couple of girls in the room, manning cameras, running errands for the photographer. He winks at them, even though, well, not his thing. It works. There's blushing, giggling. One even stops, unable to remember what she was doing. 

He was instructed to wear the coat, the scarf, the jeans, and a vest top. White, with an eagle on it. Like the belt he's thrown around his hips. Only Jin doesn't like being told what to do, so he's conveniently lost the vest. He stands in the coat, collar upturned, the thick, black scarf. The leather glove, the tight trousers, the prominent gold belt buckle, 'get down on your knees for a closer look,' it says. 'Get up close and _personal_. Now.'

“Nice,” the photographer says. He fires off a few test shots. Sadly, he doesn't mean _nice_ nice, more 'the teenage girls will _love_ this' nice, which is a shame, as he's not unattractive. Jin tilts his head back, sneers at the camera. Somebody drops a lens cap. Silence descends. Jin isn't surprised: apparently, they were shooting some young boyband this morning. Amateurs. Wouldn't know sex if it landed, tits-up, in their bed at night. 

Jin knows sex. He _is_ sex. Lives it, breathes it. A girl scoots over, adjusts his belt buckle so that it can be seen over the scarf. She's on her knees. He looks down, raises one eyebrow. She's a funny shade of purple. The photographer fires: it's a good shot. When she gets to her feet, her eyes move across the line of fine, black hair on his stomach. Her face could accurately be described as ravenous. She tilts his collar up a bit, and he licks the corner of his mouth. 

“I hate working with rockstars,” she says. “Ego the size of Mars.”

“I am Mars,” Jin says, nonchalantly. “Wait. Was he the god of war, or sex? Or both?”

She deadpans him. “War. I'm more of a make love sort of girl.”

“Oh,” Jin says, pretending to be flattened. “You've never had both at once, then?”

“Um,” she says. “I need to. I just-”

Jin just grins. 

The gangster look, that's more fun. Jin wants to keep the black fedora. Wants to keep the whole thing, actually: loose trousers, black velvet jacket, black shirt, black tie. It's ironic, not trying too hard. Striking. He tilts the hat down, lifts his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He eyes the girl at the back, who is staring intently at her notes. He's horny, now, impatient. It's been a few days. The last time he had some, he had to go to a shoot with marks all over him, and it wasn't much fun for the make-up crew. Still. It was worth it. People say that he's inconsiderate, but he doesn't think he's that bad. 

The glasses look goes down well. He looks like a slutty salaryman. He's seen porno like that before. Glasses make him look like he's trying to play dumb, but honest to God, there's not much playing involved. 

The girl comes over, removes his glasses for him. “Best look so far,” she says. “You looked adorably dumb.”

He shrugs, good-naturedly. “I am,” he says. “As well as being Mars. I'm adorably dumb. Is the soft kitten thing doing it for you?”

“No,” she lies. “It's not.”

“Shame.”

“I'm not sure why you're bothering, honestly,” she replies, leaning in to brush out the flicks in his hair. With his ear in range, she whispers. “I know you're not interested.”

“Sure I am,” he says. “Haven't you heard the rumours?”

“That you sleep with everything with a pulse? Sure. Only I've also heard they have to have dicks, too.”

Jin grins, leans in to her ear. “Wouldn't you like to see _that_.”

“Yeah,” she giggles. “That'd probably do it for me.”

He notes that down. Future reference. Fantastic. 

In the end, he keeps the scarf and the leather jacket. It'll do well for the first progress meeting. Yamapi may be able to argue, as if he were born to do it, but he can't argue with that jacket. Molded to the body, black and pure, liquid sex, Yamapi can't argue with the jacket. 

 

 _24 hours earlier_ :

“I'm not joking,” Johnny Kitagawa had said. He'd brought Yamapi and Jin into his office, which looks a little like the top of Tokyo Tower for all the view it has. Glass-surrounded, plush. Vertigo-inducing. “Why the hell would I be joking?”

They're speechless, his two leading acts. Naturally. 

“Let me get this straight,” Yamapi had said. “You promised me _everything_ at the start of the year. Said I had potential-”

“Sucks to be you,” Jin intrudes. Yamapi glares at him.

“And I was going all the way to the top. And then you hired this...pretentious asshole, and now you're going to choose between us?”

Johnny Kitagawa shrugs. “Monetarily, it's the best idea I've had in years. It's costing too much to keep you both on. Not to mention the energy that goes into managing the two biggest acts in the business, who _hate_ each other. Do you know how many staff I've had to let go because of you two idiots? No. It's what I'm resigned to doing.”

“Why can't you just get rid of him?” Yamapi says. “He's the problem. Everything was fine until he turned up.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jin says. “Nobody was making any money until I turned up. I mean, it's fine to run a business on how _nice_ and _reasonably attractive_ your acts are, but I think Johnny Kitagawa would prefer _profit_ , don't you?”

“I'm profitable, thank you very much,” Yamapi spits. “You're just a big _slut_.”

“This is _exactly_ the problem I'm talking about,” Johnny yells over them, raising his hands to the heavens. “I'm not dealing with this. No. After Christmas, one of you is gone. Which is up to you.”

“How are you going to decide?” Jin asks. He crosses one leg over the other. His shirt is riding up, there's a split in it where he's forgotten a button. Yamapi looks over, catches a glimpse of navel hair. Fucking hell. 

“I'm glad that _somebody_ asked,” Johnny says. “You're going to manage your own campaigns. From now until Christmas. Not entirely on your own: I have some PR interns who'll help you, and you'll have your assistants and your fair share of management. But I want to see what you can do without me holding your hand. I want to see you organise your shoots, your image, your songs. I want to see you writing songs, singing live, deciding how you want to represent yourselves-”

“Wow,” Jin is saying. This is _excellent_.

“I want to see you act like proper artists, not kids in a playground. Is that understood? Whoever makes the most gross profit in the next two months, they stay on the label. Whoever comes second has to find a new agent.”

Yamapi is scowling. “Are there any ground rules?”

“No,” Johnny says. “But bear in mind that if you do anything underhand, anything that might damage my reputation – the competition may end early. I don't look kindly on it. Behave responsibly. Make me money. We'll see where we are in January.”

They rise to leave. “I won't need until January,” Jin says, grinning. Yamapi opens his mouth to retort, but closes it. Then, nice as pie, he says:

“You know, Jin, in the spirit of fair competition? Good luck.”

Jin is temporarily flummoxed and Yamapi walks past him, smiling at Johnny Kitagawa. The first point is his, and it's Jin's turn to scowl. 

“This is why,” Johnny Kitagawa is saying to himself. “This is why.”

 

On his way to the progress meeting, some days later, Yamapi has his assistant, Kumiko, go and buy him a few things. Mints, an apple, water. She returns with a bundle of items, gets into the car and spills them all over the seat. He filters through and picks up the magazine. 

“What've you bought this for?” he asks.

“Page 70,” she says. “We need to keep an eye on what Jin's doing, you said.”

“Oh, nice,” he says, flicking to the right page. 

Fucking _hell_.

“I told you he was a slut,” he says, absently. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Good pics, though. Do you think you'd be up for this sort of thing?”

“Sure,” Yamapi says, even more absently. Can't stop staring at Jin's navel hair. Bad. Really bad. 

“I mean,” he goes on. “It's the image. I'll do this, and I'll do it _better_.”

Kumiko smiles at him. “You'll do fine,” she says. She likes Yamapi. He's a good guy, really. Just focused. He dislikes distraction. And Akanishi Jin, he's a distraction. Came from nowhere in a blaze of glory. Johnny Kitagawa salivated over him, paid out to remove him from his record label. And it worked, moreorless. Both he and Yamapi bring in huge revenues. Only their hatred of each is well-documented, and it doesn't do business much good. Johnny Kitagawa tried to appease them earlier in the year, by placing them in a show together. Joint practice, a joint aim, he thought it would do them good. 

It didn't, of course. They spent a great deal of the show snarking at one another. It amused and appealed to the fans, but not to Johnny Kitagawa. He foresaw his money trickling down the drain. It wouldn't do well, to have his biggest acts keen to sabotage each other. She's confident nonetheless, that Yamapi will prevail. He's been around longer. He knows the game. Jin just likes to play. Yamapi is right: he's a slut. 

A really good-looking one, but a slut nonetheless. 

They drive into the car park and Yamapi gets out of the car, tilting his sunglasses. It's a warm day, even for November, and he doesn't look worried about the future. He looks good, well-slept. Chances are, Jin will look hungover. He usually does. 

Only when they walk into the building, press the button for the lift, his car arrives. She closes her eyes, silently praying. They get into the lift and the door's almost closed when an all-too familiar hand pokes through the doors.

“Sorry,” Jin says. “Know what this thing's like. I'll be waiting for years. Morning, Yamapi.”

Yamapi looks at him. It doesn't do, ever, to be in a compact space with Akanishi Jin. It doesn't do, especially, when Akanishi Jin is wearing skin-tight leather. Yamapi recognises the jacket. _Show-off_ , he thinks. Doing it deliberately, as usual. Still. He looks good.

Fucking fucking _hell_.

“I saw your article,” Yamapi says, nonchalantly. Kumiko sighs audibly and rolls her eyes.

“Oh yeah?” Jin says, cocksure. “What did you think?”

“I was surprised,” Yamapi says, tone cool. “You were pretty clothed. I thought you'd go all out.”

Jin narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Like you could do better.”

“We'll see,” Yamapi says. 

The doors open. “After you,” Jin says. Kumiko steps out, grateful to be away from the pair of them. Yamapi makes to move after her, but Jin's arm stops him in his tracks. He slides his eyes across at Jin's face. Jin looks serious, pissed. 

“When you do better, send me a copy of the magazine,” he says. 

“Get it yourself,” Yamapi retorts. “Plenty of shops sell magazines, you know. You know what a shop is, right?”

“I know what a shop is,” Jin spits. “You think I have time to keep up with your stupid photoshoots? I'm a busy man. Send me a copy of the magazine.”

“If they're _stupid_ ,” Yamapi says. “Why care so much?”

He pushes Jin's arm out of the way, stalks out. Jin sneers at his back, follows on. The thing about Yamapi is that he doesn't go out without a fight. Jin respects that. He likes a fight as much as the next man. The only time he has a problem is when he doesn't win. Yamapi knows that, Johnny Kitagawa knows that. The whole fucking world knows that. 

He e-mails his assistant. She's currently clearing his house of party rubble, hiding all the evidence. She's well-paid and well looked-after, so she rarely complains. 

_Moeko. Every shoot Yamapi does, get me a copy. I want to see what he's up to._

_-Jin_

 

Johnny has Jin's magazine on his desk. He's chuckling when the two of them walk in, which makes Jin smile from ear to ear. 

“Well, well,” he says. “Nice start, Jin. Nice.”

“Thank you,” Jin says, pleased. “I think they turned out pretty well.”

“Yamapi, where are you?” Johnny asks, turning his attention. 

“We're in the process of organizing a gig,” his assistant says, pushing forward a few papers. “Obviously, we have a photoshoot of our own booked, that goes without saying. But we wanted something special. A small-scale concert is what we're currently focusing on.”

“Interesting,” Johnny says. He takes the papers, calls through to his secretary for some coffee and a biscuit. “Interesting. You think this is within your capacity? This is ambitious stuff.”

Yamapi tries to look nonchalant. “It'll take something special, won't it? You won't win this contest on photoshoots alone,” he casts Jin a look. “And performing is my thing. My place.”

An intern scoots in with Johnny's coffee, a trolley full of teacups and biscuits. Jin casts him a look. Young. Nice-looking. Nervous. Big brown eyes. They catch eyes across the table and the intern looks rapidly away. Fuck. Came on too strong. 

Jin's 'phone goes off. 

_You are such a fag, Akanishi. I'll get you everything he does. Or you could just ask him for a fuck? Also, for the record, I don't know what that was behind the sofa, but I had to call out help to remove it. You're disgusting._

_-Moeko_

He chuckles, looks up. Yamapi isn't looking at him. Yamapi is looking at the intern. He's flashing him one of those smiles, one of those awful ones that makes him look _nice_ and _respectable_. It's the smile equivalent of 'I'll call you'. Yamapi won't call him. Yamapi never calls anybody. The smile, though, the smile works. Jin scowls. 

“Well,” Johnny says. “I must say, when you both came in, I was expecting to leave the plaudits at Jin's door. But this, this concert is very interesting. Keep me updated on it.”

“Will do,” Yamapi says. He's grinning at two people, now. Jin hates him. Jin really hates him. And his stupid assistant. She's grinning, too. Stupid grinning people. 

“And Jin,” Johnny adds. “Benchmark's gone up. Act accordingly. Dismissed.”

They leave, and Jin says nothing. He works his face into impassivity but he thumbs the elevator button with a little too much force. Yamapi exchanges notes with his assistant, who wants a private word with Johnny. He and Jin get into the lift, ride down the ten floors with absolutely no conversation. It suits Jin. Jin is sullen. Yamapi is triumphant. 

“Matsumoto Jun is holding a party,” Yamapi says, eventually. 

“I know,” Jin says. “The whole town knows.”

“Are you going?”

“Why? So you know not to bother if I am?”

“No,” Yamapi says, calculated. “I was just wondering.”

“Don't worry, I'm not.”

“You're not?”

“Are you kidding? You know Jun hates my guts.”

“I hate you. I'd still invite you to one of my...parties.”

“Heh,” Jin says. “That's because you know that if I turn up, so does half the town.”

“I think he advertised your name on the invitations,” Yamapi sniggers. “He's got balls the size of watermelons.”

“People will be disappointed,” Jin says. “A sad, sad day for the entertainment industry.”

“You should go,” Yamapi says. 

“I'm not going,” Jin says, stubbornly. “You taking your little teaboy?”

“You're just pissed because he smiled at me and ignored you.”

Jin thinks for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

“You're a twat,” Yamapi says. But he's laughing, all the same. 

“It's part of my charm,” Jin says. 

“I don't think I can take the teaboy,” Yamapi says. “If you come, I'll bring him. He's all yours.”

Jin narrows his eyes. “Why do you care if I'm there or not?”

Yamapi just smiles as the lift grounds, walks out towards his car. His assistant runs out some moments later, having run down the stairs. She's breathing heavily, grabs his arm. Jin watches, walks out towards his own car. 

And then, then it hits him. _Fuck_.

 

Matsumoto Jun's house is spectacular. Yamapi turns several degrees around the floor, admiring the grand staircase, the upper balcony, the red curtains hanging down. Velvet, sumptuous, expensive. Waiters walk around with trays, bottles and glasses of champagne. It isn't tacky: everyone wears formal dress. The light from the chandeliers gives everything a silver sparkle, and in their black clothes, it's more like a fashion week than a party. The host himself is decked out in a tailored suit. He's surveying the guests from the top of the balcony, a smug, arrogant look on his face.

If Jin were here, he'd be humming the theme from Phantom of The Opera. Yamapi isn't sure whether to be glad he's not there, or sorry that he isn't. It's one of the difficult emotions that comes into play when you deal with Jin. The only reason he wants him there, to be really honest, is because Matsumoto Jun's parties usually only go one way. People take their clothes off and really let loose. And Jin is a master at it. Jin is gorgeous when he's turned on, when he's all about the horniness and the hedonism. Sometimes, Yamapi just watches him and forgets that he hates him. Or perhaps the fact that he hates him enhances the experience. It's difficult to tell. 

He remembers, once, watching Matsumoto Jun fuck Jin. It's only happened once. After that, Jun thought Jin was something of a threat, too sexual, too damn good-looking, and Jin became unofficially unwelcome. It certainly put attendance into something of a downward spiral: Yamapi hadn't been the only person watching. The thing about Jin that sets him apart from the likes of Jun is that he hasn't any complexes. He doesn't see being fucked as a weakness. In contrast, it seems to turn him on. Jin spread himself across the rugs, across the cushions, with no abandon whatsoever. His beautiful skin, his hips and his back, welcoming and confident. His face slack with pleasure, Jun's fingers in his wet-lipped mouth. His eyes dark, his hands crunching velvet between fingers. The noise. Fuck, the _noise_. It stopped most of the people in the room. Others continued, their eyes on the pair of them. There was something about seeing Jin that intimate, as if there was nobody else there but them.

And Jun, well. Jun went hell for leather on him. Jun is like that: a bit of a sexual predator. He's fast, rough, angry. He looks uptight, but he isn't. And Jin was his favourite plaything, that night. His favourite piece of meat. Jin was the only one to appreciate right back. The only one to enjoy being laid out, fucked like a toy. The only one to enjoy being spread out, fucked hard, fucked rough. The only one to cry out like _that_ , to ask for more. To push Jun's boundaries. And Jun realised, eventually, that more people were staring at Jin than were staring at him. After that, Jin uninvited himself. 'Damn shame', a lot of people said. Despite himself, Yamapi is inclined to agree.

The really difficult emotion is that, when he was watching it, Yamapi couldn't help but do a little mental substitution. Himself in Jun's place. It doesn't bear thinking about. Not now. 

“So,” Shige says. It's a bit different for him. No tea, for one thing. Very classy, very intimidating. He's nervous. A constant feature in his life at the moment. “Can I drink? Do you think that'd be okay?”

“With who?” Yamapi asks, confused. “Have a drink. It's what they're there for.”

“Do you have to pay?” 

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Yamapi says, laughing, not unkindly. “Just take a drink. It's covered.”

“Oh,” Shige says, taking a glass. “He must be really rich, this Matsumoto Jun. Is he a prince or something?”

“No,” Yamapi says, distractedly. He's surveying the crowd, just in case. “He's in the business. Johnny Kitagawa wouldn't touch him. He thought about it, before he took Jin on. Decided against it.”

“Oh right,” Shige says. This life is incomprehensible, most of the time. “Why not? Can he not sing?”

He's sweet, this boy, Yamapi thinks. Kind of like an antidote. “No, he can sing,” he says. “He's just full of vices.”

“All rockstars are full of vices,” Shige says. “I thought that was part of the image.”

“To an extent.” Yamapi says. “Some of them. But you try and keep most of it private. A little danger is good, a lot is just...dangerous. If you get what I mean. And Matsumoto Jun isn't private.”

“What sort of stuff does he do?”

“Anything and everything,” Yamapi shrugs. “Sex, drugs, rock and roll. You know? These parties aren't parties. They're just excuses for sex. Leave before 10pm if you're not into that, or you'll end up roped in. As for the drugs-”

“Sex parties?” Shige's face is a picture. “I think I'll leave _now_.”

Yamapi grins. “Yeah,” he says. “We're a sordid bunch. Hot little thing like you? Very popular.”

“No, thanks, I'm good. Chinese takeaway on the way home, that'll do me. Did you say drugs?”

“Yep,” Yamapi's tone is flippant. “All sorts. Not a person here who hasn't.”

“Have you-”

“Yes. But it didn't suit me. You keep it under wraps, anyway. Not good for business.”

“Does Jin-”

“Jin does...anything and everything. A bit like Jun. Only he hides it better. Jin's...hedonistic. He likes experiences. He'll do most anything. A lot of guys are like that.”

“I bet a lot of guys like it, too,” Shige says. 

“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “He's popular. But not with you, it seems.”

“Nope,” Shige says, smiling. “He makes me feel like prey. It's too much. I like you. You're-”

“Don't say 'safe'.”

“I wasn't going to. I was going to say...'gorgeous'.”

“Better,” Yamapi grins. “Sure you won't stay?”

“Hah, yeah, I'm sure. I think I want you to myself.”

Yamapi's about to respond when there's a noise at the door. The men with the guest lists are appealing to Matsumoto Jun. He glides down the stairs, somewhat indignant, and comes face to face with the problem.

“You're _not_ coming in,” he says. 

Jin looks at him in disbelief, hands over an invitation. “My name's on here,” he says. “You shouldn't advertise, then disappoint people. It makes you a cocktease, _cocktease_.”

Jun looks back at him, furious. “You don't touch me, you don't touch my people. Stick to your own sandpit. Alright?”

Jin nods, walks through the door, brushes himself off. “There are sandpits?” he says, nonchalantly. “Excellent.”

 

Yamapi loses track of what he was going to say, so Shige moves on. Yamapi and Jin don't talk at parties like this. There's no point. They never have anything much to say to each other and the promise of sex doesn't change that. Jin doesn't make a move on Shige, either, much to Yamapi's surprise. He's in the middle of chatting up a dark-haired man Yamapi doesn't recognise, but his eyes are over the man's shoulder. He's looking at Jun. And despite himself, Yamapi feels a pang of jealousy. As much as he's fed up of Jin, he likes the attention of being somebody's main rival. Jin's hatred, like his everything, weighs on you so much that you feel empty without it. 

Yamapi has a bit too much to drink. Shige has bumped into somebody, somebody chatty and sweet and a bit of an idiot. Somebody he feels comfortable with. They leave together around 9pm. Yamapi has to find a back-up plan. He's got an odd feeling that tonight won't be his night. Everybody there seems to be circulating around Jun or Jin, each hopeful, each certain to be dismissed. If Jin and Jun don't end up together tonight, after all of the glaring across the room, Yamapi thinks he'll eat somebody's hat. Anybody's.

The party spills out into the large downstairs rooms, where velvet rugs are spread across the floor and there's cushions everywhere. Gauzy drapes hang from the ceiling, white, rotund, floaty, but they don't offer much privacy. Matsumoto Jun is both voyeur and exhibitionist. In the background, music is playing. There are large vases of condoms and lube in the corners of the room. It's hardly subtle. Yamapi takes his champagne in. He's not intending to have sex – it works best when you've been chasing someone all night, someone who hasn't already gone home – but he won't say no to a bit of sly observation. 

Jin is in the middle of the room. He's lost his shirt. He's kneeling. A dark-haired man is kissing the back of his neck. Another dark-haired man is kissing his collarbone. He looks smug, pleased. Anybody would, Yamapi supposes. Jin is popular at places like this. Matsumoto Jun lies at the back of the room, calmly surveying. His eyes are on Jin. Jin is breaking his rules and playing in Jun's sandpit. Jun's not about to make a fuss at his own party but it's obvious that revenge is on his mind. 

He waves Yamapi over. One of the dark-haired men is loosening Jin's jeans. The other dark-haired man wraps his arms around his waist, moves his hands into his underwear. Jin weakens, then, leans back against him. The one in front moves his underwear down, shifts onto his stomach, takes his cock in his mouth. The two of them are good at sharing: one sucks both cock and fingers, the other keeps kissing Jin's shoulders, neckline. Jin is gasping with hard, audible pleasure. 

Yamapi treads through the bodies, his eyes on Jin, until he reaches Jun. 

“Wait until he's right there,” Jun says. “You understand what I mean by 'right there'?”

“Of course,” Yamapi scoffs. “I'm not eleven.”

“And stop what they're doing to him.” Jun says. “He's playing in my sandpit.”

“He's liable to hit me,” Yamapi says. “Do it yourself.”

“I thought you hated Jin.”

“I do.”

“So?”

“I don't want to go to tomorrow's photoshoot with a black eye, thanks. Find someone else.”

Jun looks at him. “You don't hate him.”

Yamapi looks back. Fuck. He knows. “I _do_ hate him.”

“Why can't you stop looking at him, then?”

“He looks gorgeous. Doesn't mean that I don't hate him.”

“I can make it worth your while,” Jun muses. “I'll get you a shoot with my photographer.”

Matsumoto Jun's photographer is the best in the business. He works exclusively with Jun, because Jun is the only one of them rich enough to afford it. And possibly because, so the rumours go, that he's giving a few extra favours on the side. The guy takes great shots. He took the one that put Matsumoto Jun at the top of every teenage girl's Christmas list a year ago. Yamapi would be stupid to refuse him. 

He looks at Jin, who rocks backwards, then forwards, eyes shut. He has a hand in the dark hair of each man. Bliss is etched into his face. 

“Okay,” Yamapi says. 

“Better hurry up,” Jun says, maliciously. “He won't last. He never does.”

 

Yamapi waits for an extra two minutes before making his move. Jin looks completely wrung out. He's no longer making any coherent sound, just moaning. The guys with him look spectacularly pleased. Yamapi undoes his jeans and saunters over. He approaches Jin from the front. The guy sucking Jin's cock notices him, and immediately understands the hierarchy. He's not happy about it, but Yamapi has higher standing here and he moves aside accordingly. 

Jin opens his eyes, cries out in a way that immediately makes all the men in the room wince. Then, he notices Yamapi, kneeling in front of him. They're face to face, and Jin is starting to sneer at him.

“You better have one _hell_ of a good reason for that,” he spits.

Yamapi nods. He's having trouble not smirking. “I do.”

The man behind Jin has stopped. He's unsure of what to do, looking like he wants to remove his hands. “Don't you _dare_ ,” Jin is swearing. “Don't you fucking _dare_.”

Yamapi looks over his shoulder at the man. They're having some sort of silent conversation, and it's pissing Jin off. Yamapi realises that he'll never get another chance like this. And Matsumoto Jun's photographer, well, there'll be other chances. Maybe. He's thinking with his dick, he knows that, but he's not about to care.

“Don't you dare,” he echoes. 

“Thank you,” Jin growls. “You can go, now. Tell him I'll stick to one guy, then. I'm never coming to his fucking parties ever again. Uptight twat.”

“Have you got condoms?” Yamapi says, to the other guy. 

“Excuse me?” Jin says, indignant. 

“Yes,” the guy says. “And my name is Ryo. By the way. Just in case.”

“Cool,” Yamapi says. He's starting to lie down, on his back, in front of Jin. Both of the others look confused, Jin moreso than Ryo. That is, until Yamapi grabs hold of Jin's hip and pulls down on top of him.

“What the fuck-”

“Jin,” Yamapi says. “I've had a lot of champagne. I've thought about this for a long time. It doesn't include you talking. So shut the hell up.”

Jin quirks an eyebrow. Yamapi nods over his shoulder, and Ryo leans down, grabs the lube in his hand. Jin gets comfortable, lying between Yamapi's legs. 

“I didn't know you cared,” he says smugly.

“I don't,” Yamapi says. “Until you take your clothes off. Are you going to shut up?”

“Yep,” Jin says. “Eventually.”

When Ryo preps him, Jin lowers his head onto Yamapi's collarbone. He looks about a millisecond from begging and Ryo has to be careful. He's biting his lip. 

“What's the problem?” Yamapi asks. 

“He's really sensitiv-”

“Of course I'm fucking sensitive,” Jin spits. “He interrupted me six seconds before-”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Yamapi says. He wraps his arm around Jin's back, strokes Ryo's fingers for lube. Then, he moves his hand down their bodies and grabs Jin's cock in his hand. Ten strokes is all it takes, and that's only because Jin spends the first two being perplexed. He starts grunting against Yamapi's chest on the fourth, bucking his hips on the sixth, and on the eighth he's biting Yamapi's shoulder. He comes, hard, so suddenly that he's totally out of breath.

“Nice,” Ryo says, impressed. “What's the deal with you two?”

“This and that,” Yamapi says, distractedly. “Give him five minutes, then fuck him.”

 

Yamapi starts to like Ryo. Ryo, when his confidence grows, is something of a force to be reckoned with. Jin, when he gets his breath back, gets back onto hands and knees. Ryo pushes him down, to lie fully against Yamapi. 

“That cool?” he says, over Jin's shoulder.

“Fine,” Yamapi replies, coolly.

“Oh, this is great,” Jin says. “I'm just the meat in the sandwich.”

Ryo responds to that by prepping him, again. Jin enjoys it more the second time around, thrusts back into it. He doesn't take it gently, ever. Gets off on it. This seems to please Ryo, who is looking at Yamapi with an expression of pleasurable hunger. When Jin gets too cocky, he pulls his fingers out, kneels up behind him. The whole room is watching. Nothing new there, then. Matsumoto Jun is staring, face inexpressive. He's not angry, but he's not pleased. There's a trace of arousal there. Interesting. 

When Ryo enters him, Jin tilts his chin up, moans aloud. Yamapi runs a finger along his side, wraps his hips up in his hands. Jin catches his eyes, then, smirks. 

“Fuck, that's good,” he says. 

Yamapi is smiling, despite himself. “It's good?”

“It's good,” Jin grins. Ryo is still, waiting. Jin nods at Yamapi, who nods at Ryo. Ryo grins at them both, starts to move. 

The good thing about Jin is that he's uninhibited. Once he's gone, he's gone. He doesn't think about rivalry, petty arguments, anything that's happened in the last month. He thinks with his dick. He thinks about the pleasure, and the warmth, and the eye contact – and that's enough. Jin looks Yamapi right in the eye as he's fucked, as his body moves against Yamapi's, as Yamapi can feel each individual thrust because his hard-on is pressing into his stomach, oh. Fuck. 

Yamapi slides his hand down their bodies again, makes a tunnel with his fist. Jin is greedy about accepting it, tilts his hips and fucks Yamapi's hand with abandon. The angle works for him, he cries out as he moves forward and back, and Ryo and Yamapi look at each other with furious black eyes. Moans pour out of Jin's parted mouth as Ryo fucks him, faster and faster, and Yamapi thinks that he's going to come in his trousers, watching this, until Jin sort of half-topples onto him. 

“Ow,” Yamapi says, rolling his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Jin stutters out, and when Yamapi realises he's digging a hand into Yamapi's trousers, he forgives him. As soon as Jin touches Yamapi's cock, his hips rise up and his chin goes back and he cries out, loud and hard, 'yes'. 

Jin grins, smug and endlessly irritating, but it's so hard and so sudden and so good that Yamapi doesn't care. Ryo watches them, two bodies wriggling together for friction, for their warm, hot, hard hands, and every sensation that goes through him goes into a thrust. He leans over Jin's back, moving faster and faster and faster, biting Jin's shoulder. The three of them are a blur, a wriggling blur, chasing pleasure and abandon and whatever is at the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Jin comes first. It's his prerogative. His whole body goes tight between the two bodies, his head throws back, nearly clips Ryo's chin. He makes a noise that isn't really human, that's born in the pleasure centre of his head, or something like that, Yamapi thinks. And the way his hand squeezes Yamapi's cock, that makes Yamapi next. Fingers go into his mouth and he bites on them to quell the sound before he realises that they're Jin's, and that makes him come harder, and harder, and harder. And Ryo, Ryo is pleased that he's lasted this long, he comes with the kind of abandon that's smug and hard-won. He comes looking at the two people in front of him, the two people who supposedly hate each other but look hotter in bed than anything he's ever seen.

Matsumoto Jun, of course, uninvites the three of them. 

 

They meet up in the car park, two days later, when the hangover's worn off. Jin gets into Yamapi's car. Yamapi notes that he's a little sore. Somehow, it pleases him. 

“Hey,” he says, passing Yamapi a bottle of water, an apple. He has some sandwiches. He knows Yamapi well. 

“Hey,” Yamapi returns, surprised. He'd expected more snark than this. More sarcasm. Not food. “Thanks.”

“S'okay,” Jin says. They eat, quietly. “I've got brownies, too.”

“You trying to suck up to me?”

Jin laughs. “I think I tried that, didn't I?”

“Hmm,” Yamapi grins. “Some night.”

“Some night,” Jin agrees. “Sorry, are you missing my quick wit, my acidic tongue? I can't be bothered today. You were good in bed. Really fucking good. I can't mock that.”

“I thought you hated me so much you could always find a reason to mock me.”

“Nah,” Jin says. “I didn't really hate you. I just wanted to smack you, sometimes. I hate competition. I like to be on top.”

“Except in certain-”

“Except in certain circumstances, yeah. I just wanted what you had, that's all. I'm not good at making a good impression.”

“Are you really as cocky as you seem?”

Jin thinks about this, laughs. “Yeah. That's not an act. I'm really as cocky as this.”

“You're such a twat,” Yamapi says. “I can't believe I like you.”

“If God gave you a dick like mine, you'd be cocky, too.”

“Har,” Yamapi says, rolling his eyes. “Harhar. Listen, I brought you here on business.”

“You'll have to pay me, first.”

“ _Jin_.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay, look. My assistant overheard Johnny say something on the 'phone, when she went back to his office last week. I thought you should know.”

“Conspiring with the enemy, huh. Interesting.”

“You're not the enemy,” Yamapi says. 

“The competition, then.”

“You're not that, either,” Yamapi says, shaking his head. 

“Excuse me?”

“Matsumoto Jun is the competition,” Yamapi says, dully. “They're hiring him in the new year.”

Jin sits, dumbfounded. “They can't be. Johnny said that he wouldn't, with me being here. I can't stand Jun. He can't stand me. Why would he put us together, if Johnny can't stand the two of us being on the same label?”

“I don't know,” Yamapi says. “All I know is that Jun's manager is coming in today to sign papers. They're buying him off his label.”

Jin sits, silently. “Do you think Johnny wants me out?”

Yamapi looks at him. His voice is unusually quiet. He doesn't want to say it, but he thinks that Jin would prefer honesty. He's that sort of person. “Maybe,” he says. “I don't know. It doesn't look good.”

“Excellent,” Jin says. His tone is hard. “He could have just told me.”

“You don't _know_ that that's what's going on,” Yamapi tries to reason. “You could talk to him.”

“I guess I should congratulate you,” Jin laughs. “I didn't expect things to go like this.”

“No,” Yamapi says. “I brought you here because I want to team up.”

Jin looks at Yamapi in utter disbelief. “What? I'm not c-”

“I know you're not charity. I want to team up because...fuck.”

“You're just that good a guy.”

“No, bec-”

“Because I wouldn't have done this for you.”

“I know you wouldn't.”

“Then why-”

“If you'll let me get a word in edgeways, I'll tell you!” Yamapi is laughing, despite himself. He takes a bite of apple, swallows thoughtfully. “Because when we were together, and when you had your hand in my pants, that felt right to me. A lot of stuff in this industry is shit. And I know you don't like me much and I know that you're not a lot what you seem, but when you had your fucking hand on my dick, it felt right. And not a lot in this industry feels right.”

“You think we can work together because we were good together in bed?” Jin is looking at Yamapi with a perplexed expression. “I think we were good together in bed because we can't work together.”

“Give it a try,” Yamapi says, drained. “Why not give it a fucking try? Maybe we'd be good. You never know.”

Jin thinks. “It's worth a try,” he says. “Two minds are better than one. Or something.”

“Good,” Yamapi says, reaching for a brownie.

“It's not that I don't like you much,” Jin says. Yamapi chews, looking at him. 

“You don't have to-”

“No,” Jin says. “No, shut up, I need to say this. It's not that I don't like you. It's that I can't get you out of my head and it pisses me off. I'm not used to sharing my head with somebody else. You're in my fucking head all the time.”

“Okay,” Yamapi says, not sure what to say.

“It's that I want to do it again. Only, I want you to be fucking me, not wanking me off.”

Yamapi stops. Chocolate is melting in his mouth. He's smirking, despite himself.

“Shut up,” Jin says. “ _Shut up_.”

 

The first thing they do is call in Yamapi's favour from Matsumoto Jun. Jun isn't happy about lending them his photographer, given that Yamapi still let Ryo fuck Jin. Ryo is Jun's sandpit, apparently. But Yamapi did what he could, he concedes that, and besides, he has a hair appointment so he can't be wasting time negotiating with idiots. His photographer arrives at Jun's studio within two hours, time enough for Yamapi and Jin's assistants to bring make-up artists and wardrobe assistants to the scene. Yamapi and Jin turn up, having had breakfast and feeling good, and their assistants eye them with all the suspicion they can muster. 

“What's the angle,” the photographer is saying. “Jun always has an angle. He has a whole book of 'I need to sell fuckloads of singles' poses'.”

Jin thinks. “We're in the market for a new label,” he says. 

“What?” Moeko says. Screeches. “ _What_?”

“Are we being fired?” Kumiko asks Yamapi. “Why weren't we informed?”

“Nobody is being fired,” Yamapi says. “We're just...doubling up. We're trying something out. We still need individual representation. Kumiko, you'd go insane trying to manage this guy. And Moeko, you're too hardcore for me. Nobody is being fired.”

“Jin,” Moeko says. “If you ever do this to me again-”

“I know,” Jin says. But he's grinning. She thumps him one on the arm, and grins back, muttering some sort of obscenity under her breath. 

“Okay,” the photographer is saying. “Who are you trying to sell this to? Double acts are pretty uncommon. You need to have an angle.”

“I have an idea,” Yamapi says. Jin turns to him, face curious. And from the look on Yamapi's face, the photographer gets it. 

“Ohh,” he says. “Yes. Very good. I like it.”

“What angle?” Jin is saying. “I don't like this. What angle?”

 

He likes the angle when it becomes clear to him, but then he would. For the first shot, they stand together. Their hipbones press into each other. They have no shirts on and there's a silent competition going on, which of them has the best arms. The best chest. Jin is sneering, again. You can't take the competition out of Jin, it's just not possible. Yamapi pushes his groin into Jin's, a bit of a tease, a bit of a joke, and Jin laughs wide. The shots roll off the film and the photographer smiles at some of them, the informal ones, the laughing ones. The ones that nobody will ever see. The ones that are more truth than image.

They keep the one where they both look fierce, where there's a silent battle going on for supremacy. One that's harmonious but only to a certain point. Their hips are close together and each of their faces are firm. Jin has his thumbs in his belt loops. There's navel hair, a little too much, probably, to get away with. His fingers point in Yamapi's direction. Yamapi likes that one. There's an edge of submission in it. Not that Jin would ever admit it. 

“You look like you'll tear the clothes off one another the moment I stop shooting,” the photographer says, approvingly.

The second shot is by far Yamapi's favourite, though it took some doing to capture it. Yamapi lies on his back, on a loose, white linen sheet covering the floor. White cushions are spread about. There's a gauzy curtain hanging down from the ceiling. Jin lies over him, covered in a sheet. And then Yamapi tilts his head back, eyes locked on the camera. There's no subtlety in it, and it serves only to remind them both of the week before. As Yamapi feels Jin's weight on him, he can't help thinking about his cock in Jin's hand, Jin's breath on his shoulders, Jin crying out above him. He tries not to, because the last thing he needs is a hard-on, but it's difficult. 

Jin spreads himself out, chin dropped, totally, utterly domineering. Yamapi takes some issue with this, and when the photographer is changing film, he digs his hand underneath the sheet and puts it down Jin's jeans. Down his underwear, too, so that Jin makes a strangled noise and topples over. The photographer looks over with an expression that takes no prisoners.

“Sorry,” Yamapi says.

“Get a room,” he replies, all droll, little force. 

“This is a room,” whispers Jin, in Yamapi's ear. “You're a whore.”

“So are you,” Yamapi fires back. “And stop rubbing on me. I've got a semi.”

“I know,” Jin says, all wickedness. He climbs back on, spreads Yamapi's arms out wide, holds him down by the wrists. “I can feel it. You dirty boy.”

They're looking at each other, all oneupmanship, all politics, all bravado. It's not the shot that's used, but it's the one the photographer liked best. Jin holding Yamapi down, Yamapi rebelling against it. The one they use is the one where Yamapi tilts his head back, looks at the camera with righteous indignation. And Jin, with the smuggest look on his face it's possible to have. Both of them half-naked, both of them beautiful.

“Fucking perfect,” the photographer says. 

“Too right,” Jin agrees.

 

Yamapi wants to write them a song. Both of them had one in preparation, but Yamapi thinks that it should be special. The concert is going ahead, only Johnny doesn't realise they'll use it to announce their intentions. Their assistants are scouting for new management. Their photographs are all over the media circuit. And Yamapi wants to write them a song. 

Jin is all for it, but he doesn't know Yamapi's songwriting ability. They're aware of each other's images, their limitations, their habits, their vices. Yamapi knows that Jin's experimented with all the drugs going, even though Jin thinks it's a secret. Yamapi knows that Jin's been there, done that. Yamapi knows that Jin uses coke in sex, but sex alone. Yamapi knows that Jin's lost friends to it, but that it hasn't stopped him. Jin knows that Yamapi's tried some things, never found an antidote. He knows that Yamapi doesn't drink much, even though Yamapi pretends to be something of a rebel. Yamapi knows that Jin sleeps around. He knows that he prefers domineering men, because he likes submission. Because he likes not to be in control. Because he's afraid, maybe. And Jin knows that Yamapi doesn't sleep around, but forms excessive attachments to unobtainable people. Jin knows that Yamapi is demanding, usually unreasonably so. He gets left a lot, whereas Jin does the leaving.

They know all the secrets it's possible to know. But they don't know about songwriting. They don't know each other's techniques, each other's inspiration. Jin writes songs when he's busy doing other things. Life mingles, mixes in. He wrote some of his favourite songs in the car, in the shower, sometimes he gets ideas on stage. Sometimes he gets ideas in bed. Yamapi locks himself away, needing quiet to form the words. Molding words out of emotions, it demands silence. Life intrudes on him, offers nothing to the process. They differ, in this respect.

But Jin forces himself to trust Yamapi, because Yamapi is trusting him with the publicity. With the help of his PR, their pictures are on the front covers of most of the entertainment magazines, with features inside. They do interviews. They do radio, television. Johnny is furious, but they ignore him, because there are other offers on the table. Yamapi trusts Jin with those. A song, it's a small price to pay. Jin lets Yamapi get on with it, because he's trying to trust. Yamapi lets Jin organise things around him, because he's trying to relinquish control. It doesn't always work, but the results are worth the struggle. 

 

The sex comes later. They sign a new record deal, the day Matsumoto Jun is signed to Johnny's management. Their announcement upstages his, and as far as Jin and Yamapi are concerned, it's the icing on the cake.

They've abstained, because of all the organizing. Because they've been fighting, because they've been busy. Because they wanted it to be right. Jin wanted it to feel right. He's fought the industry for a long time, and this, finally, feels real. 

“I have an idea for a song,” Yamapi says as he comes through the door. He's carrying food, they always get their own food. Not one of those acts that ask for M&Ms with all the yellow ones removed, they like to get their own food. Jin has a look through the bags as Yamapi's carrying them. They're living in Jin's apartment for the time being, getting to know each other better.

“Oh yeah,” Jin says. He steals some peanut butter cups, runs off with them. 

“Hey, I-”

“Song?”

Yamapi puts the shopping away, leans against the wall. “I didn't want to write another run-of-the-mill song. You know, about love being endless and exciting and joyful, or about it being agonizing and pain and suffering. Or about drugs, or about sex, or about...the usual. I wanted to write something different.”

“Okay,” Jin says. He's looking at Yamapi's hands. His fingers are in his belt loops. It's making Jin hungry for more than peanut butter.

“So I talked to Ryo. You know, he reads some weird shit. Asked him for an idea we could use.”

Jin sniggers. “I'll bet he came up with something weird.”

“He came up with something useful.”

“Really?” Jin is surprised, but not really paying attention. He can't stop thinking about Yamapi's hands, taking down his jeans. He could suck him off right there, against the wall-

“Jin,” Yamapi says. 

Jin looks up, his eyes coming back into focus. Yamapi looks startled. They're silent for a moment, and then Jin takes the room in strides, gathers Yamapi's face in his hands, kisses the life out of him. 

“I'm trying to-” Yamapi stutters, between kisses.

“It's your turn to shut the hell up,” Jin retorts. 

So Yamapi does. Gives in, kisses him back. They turn, making for the bedroom. Yamapi backs up through the rooms, letting Jin push him into his bedroom. They topple down on Jin's bed, kissing and pulling off clothes, until Yamapi pushes his hips against Jin's and the friction is so good they stop with the everything and just rock together, Jin's hands over Yamapi's wrists, Jin astride Yamapi. 

When he can't take anymore of it, Yamapi rolls them both over so that he's on top. Jin leans forward and undoes his jeans, throws them across the room. Yamapi loosens Jin's, pulls them down over his hips, smacking Jin's arse for a bit of lift. Jin makes an indulgent sound when Yamapi lies back down, both of them naked, both of them warm and hard. They move together, groaning. Jin sneaks a hand down, and Yamapi smacks it. 

“Bedside table drawer, I'm assuming,” he says. 

“Yes,” Jin says. When Yamapi turns to get supplies, he strokes himself once or twice, the noise from his lips an unfurling hiss. 

“Let it go,” Yamapi says, turning back around. “If you fucking can.”

“I can,” Jin says, with gritted teeth. “I don't like it when you stop suddenly.”

“Who does?” Yamapi quips. Then, “sorry. How's this?”

He remembers well, that Jin likes being prepped. He likes the feel of it, the attention, the way it makes his cheeks all red and his breath hot. He likes the different angles, the press and shift, the moment when Yamapi hits just where it's right and all breath is robbed from him. Jin moves his hips into it, hungry and demanding. And that hits Yamapi, right in the groin. 

Yamapi considers for a second, moves Jin onto his hands and knees. He pulls out and Jin growls at him, moves down the bed. Yamapi watches as he kneels up, spreads himself out across the headboard. It's half the length of the wall, plush, black leather.

“Angle's better,” he says, by way of explanation, turning his head over his shoulder.

Yamapi nods, coming up behind him. “View's good, too,” he says. He grabs Jin's hips between his hands, moves him back. Resting his chin on Jin's shoulder, he slowly, slowly moves inside him. As everything gets hotter, tighter, Yamapi presses his teeth into Jin's shoulder, trying to think about anything but how good the entire world feels. Jin's breath is hissed, rapid. He's trying to grab onto something, so Yamapi offers a free hand. 

They stay like that for a few moments, struggling to breath, until Jin pushes back and Yamapi cries out, moving forward. It's slow, at first, Yamapi's not used to the angle. Jin helps, slowly rotating back, a 'yes' on each turn. And then he lets Yamapi take over, splaying him forwards across black leather, arms spread wide, chin raised, breath staining the fabric. 

Yamapi fucks him the way he's wanted to fuck him, the way he's thought about it, time and time again. Rougher and rougher with each thrust, deeper and harder and tighter, and Jin's voice gets slacker and louder with each one. 

“Touch me,” he cries, when they're pressed together, two wet, slick bodies. 

Yamapi slides a hand around Jin's hip, wanks him off, doesn't even start off easy. Jin throws his head back, his hands go into his hair, his voice goes higher, higher still. Yamapi gives up trying to hold back, leans fully against him, the full weight of his body behind every thrust. He's biting hard on the back of Jin's neck, relishing every cry, every single sound. He's going so fast that he can barely hear, barely see, barely feel anything but this. 

“What's,” Jin says, and Yamapi struggles to hear him. “What's the song about?”

Yamapi almost feels that he should praise him. He doesn't think he can think, let alone speak. The words are stuttered and hard and unco-ordinated, but Yamapi understands them. He's just not entirely sure he can answer. 

“Ghost story,” he stutters back, in Jin's ear. “Ghost story.”

“Yeah,” Jin pushes back, hard, covering Yamapi's hand on his cock with his own. Moves it faster. He's close. He gets a bit domineering when he's close. “But what about?”

“Someone who loses something,” Yamapi stutters back. “Jin, I can't-”

“First line,” Jin says, starting to laugh. “I want the first line, or you can't come.”

“How are you still-”

“I'm,” Jin wrings out the word. “Talented.”

Yamapi has had enough. He pushes Jin up against the headboard, hard, ignoring his own pleasure to punish Jin. He flexes his hips harder, he moves his hand faster. He gives Jin no room for manoeuvre. And he fucks him, and fucks him, and fucks him, until Jin cries out with the noise Yamapi knows is the last one, because it's practically a scream. 

And just before he hears the noise, when it's just a big breath, when he's just, achingly, right there-

“Have no care in what you take, treasure will not a heart remake.”

And as white heat descends, Jin's eyes fly open, and there's a moment when-

There's a moment-

Of _something_.


	4. Bona Vacantia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written in 2007 and includes explicit sexual content and angst.

Ryo wakes up in the middle of the night, not knowing where he is or what he's doing. He's been sleepwalking recently, so he assumes that it's that. Turning over, he tries to go back to sleep. The dream he's woken up from haunts him behind the eyelids. He's thinking about his wife. She cheated on him, he's still angry. He gave up a job to be with her and that's how she repaid him. It'll have to be a divorce, he thinks, but he's still mulling it over. He's sworn off women for a while. Normally, it'd be a sacrifice, but lately he hasn't been interested. Maybe that's why his wife cheated on him in the first place. 

Before he knows it, his legs seem to be moving of their own accord. He wonders whether he's thirsty, and just not awake enough to understand the connection between brain and muscles. This has never happened when he's been awake, but there's no reason why it shouldn't. Why it couldn't. Only he doesn't go to the bathroom. He grabs his keys, rummages through a drawer and draws out a rusty old dagger. He doesn't remember ever having it, and doubts the hotel provides such things. Perhaps the last person to be here left it in the drawer. He tries to put it down, but he can't.

That's when he panics. And, strangely, the more he panics the more it's impossible to control his movements. Dagger and keys in hand, he gets dressed. He opens the wardrobe, puts on a white suit. He didn't know he owned a white suit. Dark colours are more him. And then, that done, he laces up a new pair of black leather shoes. He brushes his hair, grabs his wallet, his car keys. He's not sure what's happening. He doesn't understand any of this. 

He leaves the hotel room and takes the lift one floor up. There's nobody about, it's the middle of the night. Walking along the corridor, there's an eerie silence in the air. The only source of noise is a room halfway down, where a door is knocking on its hinge. Probably, the inhabitants forgot to close it properly, and it slams with the breeze of the air conditioning. That's when he notices the door next to the room, which is a little bit open. Somebody has tried to activate the lock, but the door has wedged itself open on the metal bar. Through the gap, Ryo crouches and takes a look. He really just wants to go back to bed. He tries to force it, but nothing happens. 

Through the gap, a woman sits astride a man. She rocks backwards and forwards very fast, her hips a smooth undulation. She's young, expensive taste. She's wearing a thick, looped gold bracelet on her left arm. As her arms rise, it taps the wall that adjoins her room with the other. The man is older, much older. His face is an unattractive shade of purple. Her bra is an an attractive shade of purple, with frills on the back. He's squeezing her breasts in a way that suggests manhandling rather than skill, but she pays him no mind. 

He finishes, she doesn't. She continues to sit until he softens, which is when he has the mental clarity to hand over a bundle of notes, which she counts with a smile on her face. They're natural together, somehow. He pushes her off, and she hurriedly looks around for her clothes. The anger builds. Strange, relentless anger, like locked-up water. Ryo doesn't understand it. As she pulls purple underwear over her wide hips, the anger bursts forth, from nowhere. From absolutely nowhere. He loves purple. His wife wore purple underwear on their wedding night. 

He pushes the door hard with his shoulder. The man takes one look at him, assumes Ryo is her pimp, and makes a run for it, muttering that he's paid her, she's all his. The woman backs into the wall, her bracelet tapping against it because she's shaking from head to foot. At first, Ryo doesn't understand why she's so immediately afraid, because he's slight and not that intimidating. Then he realises that she's seen the dagger in his hand, and the danger in his face. 

“I'm just leaving,” she says. “I'm out of here. Please don't.”

“I'm not here to pay for you,” Ryo spits. He takes his jacket off.

“I can't. I've just. I need to-”

“No,” he says. He approaches her. She flattens herself against the wall, breath coming hard. He raises a hand, wraps it around her pretty neck. She's not so tall herself, his hand pretty much fits around. Her eyes are wide. He knows that she can't breathe well. 

“Why?” she's spluttering. “I didn't do anything-”

“My wife wore purple underwear on her wedding night,” Ryo says. He doesn't know why he's saying these things. Behind his eyes, there's total panic, revulsion, fear. He wonders whether she sees it, this woman, this unknown creature. It's like somebody else is speaking for him, moving for him. As if he's tapped into the part of his brain where thoughts are raw and actions uncontrollable. As if he has no morality, ethics, compassion left. As if he's an animal. 

“She looked like you do now,” he says. 

“I'm not...innocent,” she struggles against him. “Please, I'm not-”

“Oh, no, neither was she, in the end,” Ryo says. “She probably wore purple underwear when she took her lover, too. She probably looked like you do now. Standing against a wall, some other guy's come inside her.”

“We use-”

“Wet,” Ryo says. He moves his hand over her underwear, between her legs. “Here.”

He wishes he was dead. The self-loathing rises in him like acid, drowning him. He just wishes he was dead.

“This is nothing to do with-” She's really struggling now, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“You're all the same,” Ryo says. His tone is dull, his heart anything but. He wants to cry, too.

“No, please,” she says, shaking from head to foot. He looks to his side, sees that he's raising the dagger. A thought enters his brain. Trace the outline on her chest, of her frightened, frightened heart. It's a good, _good_ heart. That doesn't make any sense to him, and he doesn't think that he can do that. It doesn't seem to matter what he thinks he can or can't do. Somebody else works that arm, somebody else flexes that fist. 

He covers her mouth as the dagger slices her chest. Of course, she's screaming. She screams until the circle is complete, and then she slumps to the ground. The dagger glows white, Ryo's chest glows white, Ryo's eyes glow white. He wipes the dagger with his hand, wipes his chest, like his head's telling him to. He lets go, and the woman slumps to the floor. She's white, too, but in a different way. The mark on her chest is a red, burnt circle. She's dead. 

She's _dead_.

He has to run. He has to run. What will he do now? What will the thing inside him want now? He's almost too afraid to find out. He wants to plunge the dagger into his own chest. He tries to move a foot, and it moves. He's back. He's back to himself. The thing, whatever is was, is silent. Back to himself, the first thing he does is vomit in the bin. That's the only thing he can do, really. Then, he goes over to the wall, taps his head against it until he can think. It turns into something of a masochistic activity, because he can hardly think. The only thing he can do now is run. He hasn't a hope in hell of getting away with it, but he can't think of a better idea. 

He leaves her, lying on the floor, makes a run for it. He grabs his things from the table as he does so, his keys, the jacket he'd taken off. Things fall over, vases, lights. There's an unholy noise, but he doesn't care. He runs out of the door, slams it on its hinges, runs down the corridor. The room next door, the door is fixed. It no longer rocks on its hinge. Only, when he runs past, it opens and he panics. A head pops around the doorway, and Ryo turns around. It's a man, young, afraid. Afraid of so many things. A good, _good_ heart. He can feel the anger rising in him, once again. His eyes are wet, angry, full of feeling and memories. 

Another man's face appears. The anger quells, he turns more slowly. The thing is gone, once again. The three of them look at each other, locked in a silent confrontation. After a second, Ryo bolts, and the men disappear. He runs down the stairs, it's better than waiting for a lift. It could take ages. The men are probably calling the police, right now. He runs into the parking lot, unlocks his car. He sits in it, to catch his breath. The world no longer makes sense. His legs burn with lactic acid, his brain stings with intrusion. He doesn't understand what's going on. It's not possible to understand what's going on.

As he sits, he leaves the engine running. He needs a real noise, something to connect him to life. Silence really is deafening. He reaches out for the wheel, and sees that his hands are covered in blood. He can't remember whether they were like that before. He looks down, and his white suit is stained red. The smell of blood is overpowering. Raw, metallic, it'll be there forever. He'll never not smell it. And that's enough, that thought, to overwhelm him. He drives off into the night, tears streaming down his face. Slowly, slowly, he repeats the word, 'no', as if by saying it, he can undo the night. 

 

He goes home a day or two later. He dumps the suit, buys some new clothes. He returns to his wife. She doesn't question where he's been, because the last time he saw her, another man was inside her. She no longer has the right to question his movements. But she notices that he is different, and presumes it's because of the losses he's experienced. She feels guilty, endlessly guilty, for what she's done to him. But at the same time, he's been different for a while, indifferent to her and to their life, and she did only what was absolutely necessary. 

“I forgive you,” he says, without tone. Without care.

As much as she appreciates it, it doesn't make any sense, and she no longer wants a husband that doesn't care. She wants a husband who gets angry, who has passion, who has jealousy. She doesn't want a husband who sees her entwined with another man and does nothing. Why would she want that sort of man?

“Why?” she asks, not unkindly. “I-”

“I know what you did was horrible,” Ryo says. “But I love you. We'll get through it.”

She doesn't understand, but she knows when not to push it. Maybe things will work out. Maybe he's in shock. Maybe she shouldn't jinx it. How many wives get forgiven so easily, for doing such an awful thing? Maybe passion will come later. Anger, too. Maybe. In the meantime, he's a good man, a kind man, and she hopes that it'll be okay.

“Should we talk about it?” she asks.

“No,” Ryo says. “I don't want to. Not yet.”

“Okay,” she says. “Well, when you-”

“We should go away somewhere,” he says, abruptly. “It'll do us good.”

“Okay,” she says. “Where would you like to go?”

“Somewhere quiet,” he replies, dully. “Silence is deafening.”

“I'll find something,” she says. “Maybe a lake, or a mountain retreat? You're right, it'd be good to get out of the city. It's so noisy, so many people. It could be just us. We could do all sorts of fun things. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“I'm going to bed,” he says.

“Okay,” she says. “It's 2 in the afternoon. Are you very tired?”

“Yes,” he says, turning around to face her. His eyes are bloodshot, his face wretched. He does look so very tired. “I need to sleep. Don't leave. Stay.”

“I'll stay,” she says, wondering where she'd go. “We'll go tomorrow, okay?”

“Tonight,” he says. “Tonight. Please.”

Different. Indifferent. Two opposing moods in the same person. It's so strange. 

“Okay,” she says, tone unsure. “If you like.”

 

When they drive out, they miss the television broadcasts. It's kept local, of course, because she's a working girl. But there are broadcasts, nonetheless. The police are hopeful of catching a suspect, they're working on many clues. Ryo's wife probably wouldn't have suspected anything, had she seen the broadcasts. She didn't know where Ryo was staying, and Ryo's not the kind of person to murder anybody. He doesn't have the guts for it, everybody knows that. His heart is too weak. Now, his heart grows in his chest and his feelings with it. Everything gets stronger by the minute. He had thought that forgiving his wife would be hard, but it wasn't. It wasn't at all. 

Still, he doesn't want her to have any suspicions. Slowly, he's putting it behind him. He's trying to forget. The heart in his chest is allowing for it, is patching up wounds that it itself created. There's a certain irony in that that he'd rather ignore, but all the same he's glad that he's healing. The pain was unbearable, as he drove around in circles that night. Now, the pain is a pinprick, very little more. He knows that he should be worried about that, but he can't muster the energy to bother. 

Ryo has always liked driving in the night, his wife knows. It beats the traffic, which annoys him. It makes him calm, empty, dark roads. She prefers driving in the day, because you get to see the views that way, but she supposes that the driver doesn't see the views either way. Besides, she's not in a position to argue with Ryo, so she goes with it. She sleeps for a little while, but wakes because he's driving fast, and she's not used to sleeping in the car. 

“Which lake are we going to?” she asks. 

“Can you put the radio on?” Ryo returns, as if he didn't really hear her question.

She does. It's some new, awful rock song she's heard a few times on her way to work. The girls in her office keep talking about it, this new duet act. Men falling all over each other, homoerotica, or something. She doesn't understand the new world. They're at the top of the Japanese charts with their song, this weird, weird song about ghosts and hearts and nonsense. And the women love them, good-looking men touching one another. She thinks it's strange.

Ryo listens to the song, transfixed. His brain is processing the lyrics, she can almost see it working. He hasn't heard the song, then. She doubts he'd like the band. The thought makes her want to laugh, but she represses it. 

He's listening so hard that the car veers over, and she squeals, putting her hand on the wheel. Ryo sees it, at the last minute, and hastily corrects it. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“Are you getting tired?” she asks, hand on her breastbone. She's breathing hard, and the outline of her breastbone, her heart beneath-

“No,” he says, hurriedly. “No, no. I just lost concentration for a second. Put the radio off.”

She does, gladly, trying to get her breath back. He's looking to the side, looking at what she believes to be her breasts. 

“Ryo!” she says, but in a weird way, it's flattering. Her husband never would have done that before. He was so wrapped up in other things, he never paid attention to her figure much. 

“I'm not-” and he isn't.

“No, no,” she says, wickedly. “I like it.”

“I just-”

“You can look all you want.”

He falls silent, then, watching the road. He can't think of a single thing to say, to remove the image in his mind of his wife in the prostitute's purple underwear. Of his wife, fucking that purplish man. Taking money, stuffing it in her bra. Tucked it into the right side, left her heart exposed. If she'd tucked the money into her left side, maybe she'd have been safe. Maybe. Of course, if she hadn't been in that room, taking money in the first place-

“I'll look later,” he says. He doesn't mean it as a joke, but she laughs, and it's the purest sound on the darkest night, and he doesn't deserve or understand any of this. 

 

What comes later is something of a blur. He and his wife stay at the lake, in room 902. Strange number, she says, mildly. At first, everything is okay. His heart grows and grows in his chest and he holds his wife, as if he really loves her again. It takes less and less effort every day, to pretend that he's crazy about her. He doesn't understand why, but he's not about to argue with it, the great sex, the contentment. He even forgets about the woman he's killed. 

The symptoms disappear. He no longer feels compelled to do strange things. Until the second or third night he stays there, he doesn't remember which it is, he doesn't feel compelled to do anything untoward. And then, suddenly, without explanation or warning, he feels it again. The cabin next door, 893. The hatred, the need for revenge. The need to wipe the thing out of existence. The need to obliterate. 

One minute, he's asleep. The next moment, he has a dagger in his pocket and a piece of paper in the other. The terror floods him, as he walks without control over his body. He wants to be with his wife. There's going to be children. There's going to be happiness. Walking around without meaning to, stabbing people without meaning to – that's not happiness. 

Letters appear on the paper. He fastens the paper to the door of 893, with the dagger. The anger, the rage subsides. He goes back where he came from, and the feeling dissolves. He feels nothing but a strange drowning sensation, water in the lungs. He struggles to breathe. 

 

“You are now free,” the man says, later still. There are no words to express the relief. It's a ghost. An unreal figure, but that somehow doesn't matter. In a weird way, it's reassuring. Ryo did these things because he was forced to, by something much larger than him. It's not something of this world. It allows him an iota of forgiveness.

“I am now free.”

 

He watches from 902, as the brighter force throws the dagger into the lake. The ghost can't reach it there. Ghosts have no substance, even bright ones, like the one that controlled him. He's not sure what he feels, then. A sense of completion, a little bit. A sense of final, final completion. 

He goes back to bed. He and his wife have sex, because she has no idea of the things he has gone through, and because he needs, in some small way, to make her understand them. It's good sex. Really good sex. But he is empty, and hollow, and the drowning sensation is still there. 

The dagger lies at the bottom of the lake, and Ryo's lungs are filling with water. His heart is filling with water. Suddenly, it all makes startling sense. As much as he coughs, as much as he splutters, the sensation will not go away. 

He wonders, idly, whether it will kill him. Kill the heart that beats within him. Maybe he isn't free, after all. 

 

The man called Ieyasu goes to the police. Yakuza have a strange bond with the police, Japan having its corrupt side, like any other country. Experts in crime make good advisors, so the police see it. And Ieyasu is a knowledgeable man. He's tracked down a good many criminals. Many murderers started out as gamblers, men who owed money to men like Ieyasu. Ieyasu, therefore, is good at tracking them down. The police appreciate him, offer him limited protection. 

The man called Ieyasu uses different names all the time, the police know. A few years ago, he called himself something different. None of them can remember what it was, but his code names change as the years go on. For protection, they assume. None of them know what he really is. He's careful like that. Currently, he's Ieyasu. There's a certain irony to it. The man who brought peace to Japan, who locked it away from its enemies and friends alike, Tokugawa Ieyasu, now recast as a criminal boss who brings other criminals to the law's attention. 

The man called Ieyasu highlights one name to the police. They've already been looking at it, because it's on all of the booking forms in the hotel. He booked his own room, one floor below the murder location. And he also booked another, where the police think he took the prostitute to avoid suspicion. Not many men book two rooms for this sort of activity, but Ryo's details are on both forms, clear as day. 

The man called Ieyasu explains to the police that Ryo has all sorts of debt. It's true, naturally, but the police don't know that Ieyasu made the debt happen after the murder. Ieyasu is tricky like that. Time bends for him, chronology manipulates himself. The police eat it all up, the story, a petty gambler trying to hide his habit from his traditional wife. A frigid, traditional wife. The petty gambler, needing a quick fix, celebrating a big money haul. A pretty little whore. It all seems to fit. 

“We interviewed two men,” the chief of police says. “Witnesses. They described the man you speak of. His name is Nishikido Ryo. We're going to bring him in for questioning.”

“You should,” Ieyasu says. “He is very dangerous. Unpredictable. Nobody knows what he'll do next. Out of respect for the law, my men have given up chasing him. We won't try to regain the debts he owes us until you have conducted a thorough investigation.”

“Appreciated,” the chief of police says. “We thank you for your time.”

And so it is that Ryo's whole life is turned upside down.

 

Yamapi is nervous. He's standing in front of the wonky full-length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. He's trying to tie his tie, and it looks as wonky as the mirror. He frowns. Jin is scuttling around behind him, putting on his trousers with one arm and brushing his teeth with the other.

“I can't believe we slept in,” he's saying, around toothbrush. 

“Fuck,” Yamapi says. “We said we'd stop being this useless when we graduated. When we got jobs and became adult people.”

“I'm not an adult person,” Jin says, firmly. He hops out of the door, one leg in his trousers, one out. He shouts from the bathroom, “Fuck law degree. Fuck law office. I am not an adult person yet.”

“Can't argue with that,” Yamapi says, cheerfully. “First day. Fuck. Are you scared?”

Jin coughs. He's been doing it for a few days. A lingering cold, he thinks. Yamapi waits for it to stop, and then Jin says. “Nope. Not scared. Excited. Fear is for adult people.”

“That makes me adult, then,” Yamapi says, sighing and giving up with his tie. Jin comes back in, trousers on, toothbrush gone. He comes up behind Yamapi in the mirror, reaches around him and adjusts the mirror. Then, watching himself and Yamapi, he slowly ties Yamapi's tie for him. Jin is good at ties. Good with his hands, period. Yamapi tries not to think about that. They only slept in because they stayed up last night. And the sex, fuck, that was worth it, but-

“We're on opposite sides of the city,” Jin says. “Meeting up for lunch out of the question?”

“Do we get lunch?” Yamapi says, hopefully. “I packed sandwiches in case.”

“Oh,” Jin says, crestfallen. “I think I'll quit if we don't get lunch.”

His face is impish, hot. Halfway between cute and horny. The combination is irresistible, and Yamapi has to force his feet to move away from him. He picks up his briefcase, checks he's got everything. Jin does the same. It's funny, Yamapi thinks. Two such similar people, doing such different things. They went to the same school, the same university, studied the same subject. Law. Both went into criminal law. Bought an apartment together. Started dating, having excellent, harmonious sex. They have the same taste in food, the same penchant for beer. They like the same cars, they like the same girls, and guys. They're both night owls, bad in the morning. They're both disorganized. They both have big appetites, in every respect.

The only difference is that Yamapi works for defence and Jin works for prosecution. They've always been that way. Jin was quick to criminalize everyone, back in law school. Yamapi was quick to defend. They've just always been that way. They don't talk about law too much in detail, because it ends up in a stubborn argument. Things often do, with them. They're as stubborn as each other. They don't try to think too far into the future. Yamapi packs up his briefcase again, finds his car keys, kisses Jin hard on the mouth and leaves. Jin leaves some five minutes later, once he's checked his briefcase, grabbed his car keys and found himself without anyone to kiss goodbye. They drive to opposite ends of the city, expecting very different days.

Instead, the similarities just continue.

 

Yamapi walks in, a little late, but nobody seems to notice him. The men are all standing around, restlessly. 

“I'm new,” he says, idly, to nobody. “New intern.”

The boss comes out of his office, shaking hands with a slight woman. She's pretty, timid looking. She has dark hair, a cardigan on. Pearls around her neck. She's tearful. Yamapi processes it all. 

She leaves. “Ah,” the boss says, nodding to Yamapi. “Everyone, this is our new intern. Yamashita Tomohisa. Just graduated from Tokyo. Be nice to him, make him feel welcome. And let's all hope he does better than the last one.”

Yamapi swallows, hard, looking around. 

“Just kidding,” the man continues, and Yamapi laughs, because everyone else is. It isn't unkind, just unfamiliar. “Hope you'll excuse the rapid introduction, but we have one hell of a case to be getting on with. You'll like this one, boys.”

Everyone stands around, eagerly. At first, Yamapi thinks that they're enthused about the promise of a good story, and then he remembers that at the end of the briefing, the boss will picks a team to compile evidence and arguments. He's not expecting to be picked, not for a good case on his first day, but he can see the men that really do hold expectations. He can distinguish between them and the men that are just idly hopeful. 

“Our client is the wife of a man currently being held for the murder of a prostitute. She says he'd never do anything like that.”

“The sex, or the murder?” Yamapi says, can't hold it back. He's too used to lectures and tutorials, where interruption and contest were regular themes of the day. Everyone turns to look at him. “Sorry,” he says. “Speaking out of turn. Got it.”

“Good question,” the boss says, nodding at him. “She says both. He's not the type of man to commit either crime, as it were. Problem is, we've got a hell of a battle on our hands to prove it. Two witnesses claim to have placed him at the scene of the crime. His name is on the booking of the room in which the murder took place. His DNA is on the victim's body.”

“Surely it's a closed case?” one of the men says. He's frowning. DNA is the big kicker. Difficult to argue against biology.

“I'm not sure,” the boss says. “He's in the police cells right now. He's been claiming, get this, supernatural forces led him to do it.”

A low whistle goes around the room. This is a good story. 

“Supernatural forces?” Yamapi says. “Can we admit that, in a court?” He's been taught otherwise, but the differences between law in a classroom and law in a court are vast and endless, he's beginning to realise.

“We can,” the boss says. “If anything, it'll work in our favour. Law is often a performance. Appeal to the audience, and we can net the case. Supernatural forces, that's one hell of a story, don't you think?”

“What sort of supernatural forces?” the skeptical man says. Yamapi later finds out that his name is Tego, but at the time, skeptical man works fine. “Would make someone kill someone else? That's one big supernatural force, right?”

“A ghost, he's claiming,” the boss says. “Normally, ghosts don't have the power to intrude on people's decisions, I know. But vengeful spirits? Definitely. This is no normal ghost, he says. This is a vengeful spirit. He claims that the ghost is...not passive. Aggressive, definitely alive. I want you to investigate this for me. I want my team to get me all the information on this they possibly can. We're going to put on a show, boys.”

“Do you think he's innocent, boss?”

“I think he did it, sure,” the boss says. “But perhaps it wasn't him.”

 

Jin sits around a table with twelve other men. The boss sits at the head. 

“Defence will fucking ride this one,” The boss is saying. The men are nodding. Nobody speaks out of turn here. Jin's learnt that the hard way. “Supernatural forces always get those bastards excited. People say law is a show. It's not a show. It's about justice. It's about locking up the people who endanger other people. This is not entertainment. Anybody who says as much is an idiot.”

“They can't submit supernatural forces in a court of law,” one of the men says. “It's not ethical.”

“Law isn't ethical,” the boss shrugs. “If they can convince the jury of it, who knows what'll happen? It's our job to stop this. The man is guilty. We have his name on the room, we have witnesses, and we have DNA. This is almost slam-dunk. We just need one more thing.”

“The murder weapon,” Jin says. “It wasn't found in the room.”

“The murder weapon,” the boss says. “Nishikido Ryo hasn't told us where the murder weapon is. We're doing some investigation with the police, as he went to stay at a lakeside resort having committed the murder. We think the murder weapon may be there somewhere.”

“Good place to hide a knife,” one of the men says. “Needle in a haystack.”

Jin flips through the autopsy photographs, winces. “The marks on the woman's body. They're...strange.”

“Yes,” the boss says, idly. “They are. Doesn't matter. If we can match the knife to the whore, and the knife to the suspect...it's a slam-dunk. Doesn't matter what the other side comes up with.”

Everyone nods, not daring to push the boss on the team he's chosen. Jin looks around the table and senses a hierarchy. The better, more favoured people, they sit closer to the boss than everyone else. They sit with the sort of ease that accompanies favouritism. Jin sits right at the end, because he's new, and it turns out that the boss doesn't like interns much. Until they're experienced, less likely to screw things up. The rest of the men pay little attention to Jin, until he talks, and then they look resentful.

The boss picks a team of seven. Five he keeps with him, two he sends out to the lake to aid the police. 

“Don't let anyone else find that weapon before us,” he warns them. “And don't say anything, to anyone.”

“Yes, boss,” the men say, nodding with gratitude. The drive is hours away, but they're glad to have something to do for their boss that isn't making tea. It's been a while since that was the case.

“Oh,” the boss adds, as they leave. “Take the new intern with you. What's your name again?”

“Akanishi Jin,” Jin says. “Thank you very much, sir, I appreciate-”

“Dismissed.”

 

Jin is packing when Yamapi falls through the door. It's raining and his umbrella is temperamental. 

“Hey,” he says. He drops a bag of shopping on the floor, apples spill out. He eats one, looks at the suitcase. “Where are you going? Jin?”

“Hey, hey,” Jin says, reaching into the cupboard for another shirt. “I'm going on a mission. Boss sent me to some resort to find a murder weapon. Exciting, huh?”

Yamapi's eyes go wide. “Oh man. That's _cool_. How long will you be gone?”

“No more than a day or two, I dunno, they don't think it'll be long. Sorry – I wanted to stay, hear about your day, but they're picking me up in an hour. It's kind of hardcore, this. Was your day good?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Yamapi nods. He sits on the bed, eats his apple. “I got picked for the team.”

“Wow,” Jin says. “Great stuff. Does that mean you'll get to present?”

“Nah, I doubt it,” Yamapi says. “But I get to compile the case, or help at least. Which is something, right?”

“Yeah, it is. Your first case. That's so great.”

“Don't take that shirt. It's cold out there, you'll freeze to death.”

“Oh,” Jin puts it back. “Thanks. You like this shirt.”

“I do,” Yamapi says. “You can see your nipples in it.” He's grinning around the apple.

“Fuck off,” Jin says. “It's not that thin.”

“Got time for a celebratory fuck, then?”

“Huh?”

“Well. You're off searching for a murder weapon. I'm compiling evidence for a case. Good fucking first day, deserves good fucking, period.” Yamapi is grinning wider, wider. Jin likes it. He kicks his suitcase off the bed. 

“A quick one,” he says, impishly, tearing Yamapi's jacket off, his trousers, his socks. Yamapi reciprocates, going for Jin's tie last. 

“Leave it,” Jin gasps, breathless, leaning over to kiss him. “Yours, too.”

“Kinky fucker,” Yamapi says. But he does. 

Jin settles on his back, his shirt riding up. He looks like a dirty schoolboy. It is kinky, but Yamapi likes it. Yamapi lies on top, the kissing continuing. Jin strokes his back, his shoulders. They rub together, pressing gently, experimentally at first. Jin's eyes are lidded, his breath downy. He's hardening against Yamapi. They harden together, moving with more force as arousal chases through them. Yamapi licks a path from Jin's collarbone to the shell of his ear, loosening his tie and shirt buttons to get access. Jin squeezes his shoulders, presses his hips up, “yes”.

They push together, harder. Yamapi rises up on his arms, so he can move better, harder. Jin's eyes are black, his hips moving faster with each thrust. He reaches down, circles Yamapi's cock with his hand. The pressure, so specific and so good, it feels incredible after loose, blurry friction, and Yamapi cries out. He leans down, reciprocates, and Jin makes a strangled, needy sound. He pulls Yamapi down on top of him and they roll together, like puppies, undignified and clumsy, trying to get it as hard and as hot and as fast as they both need it. 

With the other hand, Jin grabs Yamapi's tie and pulls him in, hard, for a kiss. He's gasping into it, thrusting into Yamapi's hand. 

“Close,” he mouthes, against Yamapi's lips. Yamapi can only nod, vaguely mumbles, “fuck yes”, speeds up as much as his wrist muscles will allow without wishing death on him. Jin is practically fucking his hand, now, he's that desperate, that needy. It's better than the feeling of Jin's hand on his cock, almost, to see him like that.

Surprisingly, he comes first, the image of Jin fucking himself on Yamapi's hand too much to bear. It takes him a bit by surprise and he yells, his throat sore afterwards. He's lost the apple in the bed, somewhere. Jin comes just as he's done, a wrought scream that covers the walls. He lies, afterwards, Yamapi on top of him. They're both exhausted, content. Kinky, shirts wet. Ties around their necks. Jin holds Yamapi's in a loose hand. It's possessive, and Yamapi likes it. 

“You should finish packing,” Yamapi says, mischievous. He knows Jin hasn't got the strength to move, not for another ten minutes.

“Fuck off,” Jin says. “Ten more minutes.”

 

In work the next day, Yamapi is trusted with perhaps the most important task of all. Nobody can understand this, because he's new and because he hasn't proved himself. They're not outright resentful, but they're not pleased, and he receives strained small talk before he leaves the office to visit Nishikido Ryo in custody. 

“Let me know anything and everything that he says,” the boss advises him. “Don't leave out a detail. You never know what might come in useful on the stand. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Yamapi says. “I understand.”

Once he's gone, the boss sits down with the rest of his team. He wants to discuss the unlikelihood they'll win the case, and what they can do to intrude upon the defence team. 

“They're out searching for the weapon,” the boss says. “I want us to be doing the same. I'm not suggesting that they'd tamper with the evidence, but it pays to be the people to find the murder weapon. Gets the police on your side. Not to mention, we'll find what about the weapon the defence will complain about, before they get a chance to form an opinion. It pays to be in first.”

“You didn't think to send Tomohisa-san searching for the weapon?” Tego asks. 

“No,” the boss says. “For a very good reason. I've reason to believe that his partner is working on the defence team. I have people who do research for me, you know this. I don't want the pair of them meeting up at the lake. Too dangerous. Anyway, this task is far more important than Tomohisa's. Ryo isn't talking. Not to anybody.”

The men nod, plans suddenly becoming clear to them. “We should head out as soon as possible,” they say. 

“Yes,” the boss says. “Needle in a haystack. Find out where the police have already searched, and go from there. We must find that weapon first. We must.”

 

Ryo Nishikido is dulcet. If people could be dulcet, he would be. He's staring at the counter before him, barely listening. There's nothing energetic about him. He doesn't even look as if he wants to claim innocence. This isn't what Yamapi was expecting. 

“If you tell us where the weapon is,” Yamapi is saying. “We can help you. It may look cut-and-dried, but it isn't. We've got all sorts of ideas. It'll be okay. But we need your help.”

“I didn't ask for this,” Ryo says. “I'm sorry. I didn't.”

“Your wife did,” Yamapi says. “Don't you want to-”

“Look,” Ryo says. He raises his face, which is a car wreck of emotion. “Do you have a wife?”

“No,” Yamapi says. “No. I'm with someone. I've been with someone a few years.”

“Have they ever cheated on you?”

“No.”

“Imagine coming home, and finding somebody else inside them. On top of them. Touching them, the way you touch them. Making them come. Making them make the faces you thought unique to your sex life, the things they only did for you. Imagine how that fucking feels. My wife-”

“She's guilty.”

“Yeah.”

“But...is that why you did what you did?”

“I didn't do what I did. I mean, I did, obviously. But it wasn't me. It wasn't in my control. I don't know what happened. I've gone over this.”

“I know,” Yamapi says, nodding. 

“Are you new? You don't seem very good at this.”

“I am,” Yamapi says, refusing to be flustered. “But I'm committed, and I'm determined not to let you or your wife down. Whether or not you're bothered, she doesn't want to see you go to jail for this. She wants to be with you. Yeah, if Jin slept with somebody else, I'd be pissed. Really, really upset. But I'd try and work it out with him, because I love him.”

Ryo seems startled. Yamapi's not sure which bit has alarmed him. “So, if I were you, I'd work out whether you want to waste our services, because your wife has gone to lengths to attain them.”

“Okay,” Ryo says. “You're a pushy guy.”

“New people usually are,” Yamapi says. “We have to be, I guess.”

“You want to know...what? I've told your boss everything that happened.”

“In the hotel room, sure. But there was stuff that happened later, wasn't there? You went to a lakeside resort after the...incident.”

“Yes,” Ryo says. “I wanted to be with my wife.”

“What happened then?”

“It...the thing. It happened again. I didn't want it to, but it did. I saw these two men, the same two men I saw in the hotel room. I didn't know why they were suddenly there, again, and it made the thing angry. It happened again, without my control.”

“What happened?”

“The...my legs, they moved without my intending them to. I woke up, walking around. I took the knife, and a bit of paper. Words appeared on it, without me doing anything. I pinned the note to their door.”

“What did the note say?”

“ _I missed you at the show_.”

“What did that mean?”

“I don't know. I really don't. I didn't write it.”

“Okay,” Yamapi says. “What did you do after that?”

“I went back to my cabin. Minutes later, the two men came out. They were running away from something, or someone. It seemed like a ghost, the same ghost who...had captured me. The same ghost I confronted, that night.”

“What did the ghost say, when you confronted him?”

“That he set me up, because it wouldn't matter if I was imprisoned for a murder. I wasn't important. It didn't make sense, because he's a ghost. It isn't like he could be imprisoned. You can't lock up supernatural beings. Why he needed me, I don't know. He turned to...smoke, after our conversation.”

“But the men were running from him?”

“Yes. He was back, then.”

“Did they have the knife? Is it still on the door?”

“One of the men had the knife. He...”

“Go on. Please.”

“He threw it into the lake.”

“Didn't the ghost-”

“Ghosts can't go into water. They have no substance. They'd be drowned.”

“The knife is at the bottom of the lake?”

“Yes,” Ryo says, looking guiltily at the floor. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier-”

“It's okay,” Yamapi says. He's excited: maybe the evidence will be gone. Water tends to destroy fingerprints. Perhaps this is good news, after all. “Thank you for your time. You've been great, seriously. I'll. We'll be in touch.”

“Sure, I-”

“Thank you.”

He leaves, a flurry of papers and briefcase. Ryo looks after him, dejectedly. “I've got this cough, see,” he says, to himself. “Watery, fucking cough. What does _that_ mean?”

 

Yamapi talks over the news in the car, and over the 'phone his boss seems as pleased as he is. They agree that fingerprint evidence may have been destroyed, and with Yamapi's information, it'll be easy for the defence team to find the weapon before the prosecution team. Yamapi, as far as the boss is concerned, has performed brilliantly. He's authorized to take a half-day, to go on a date, dinner, relax. He's done well. 

Ecstatic, he drives home, does a little dance in his apartment. Wishes Jin was there, so he could speak to him, share the triumph, the way they used to do with their exam results. He picks up his 'phone, dials. 

“Hey,” Jin says, and in the background, there's the sound of a car engine. “How's tricks?”

“Great, fuck,” Yamapi laughs, breathlessly. “I just. I had a great day. I talked to our client, found out where the murder weapon we were looking for was. I found it out, all by myself.”

“That's great!” Jin says. The men in the front seats pay him no attention, as always. “Good for you.”

“I've got a half day,” Yamapi says. “I'm going out to dinner.”

“Fuck, don't,” Jin says. “Prosecution doesn't believe in food.”

“Oh,” Yamapi says, feeling for him. “I'll think of you, when I'm eating steak. The local has a deal on. If you can eat two, they're on the house. Big ones, too.”

“I hate you. I officially hate you.”

“Have you arrived yet?”

“No,” Jin says. “About ten miles away. It's this lake, it's in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“Who are you talking to?” the man driving says. “Jin-”

“It's my boyfriend,” Jin says. “Hang on, Pi.”

Yamapi isn't talking. Things are slowly sliding, horribly, into place. Jin's at a lake, searching for a murder weapon. A murder weapon that's underwater. They can't be working on the same case. It's not possible. It's not possible. It can't be. It can't-

“Pi, I'm gonna have to go. They want me off the 'phone.”

“That's...fine, fine, I'll speak to you soon?”

“Sure,” Jin says. “Enjoy your steak. Bastard.”

Yamapi manages a strained laugh, and Jin hangs up. Yamapi sits on the bed, slowly. There's an apple under the covers, he can feel it through the bedsheets. He doesn't know what to do. He just doesn't know what to do. 

He could tell Jin, but it doesn't seem right, somehow. It's not his place. And maybe Jin already knows. The thought hits him like a bucket of cold water. What if Jin knows already? Is he just humouring him?

No, he thinks. He didn't know. Makes no sense for Jin to know. Maybe their bosses don't know, either. Maybe it's just an awful coincidence. Maybe it's just something terrible, like that. 

He's suddenly glad that he didn't tell Jin where the knife is. It's an awful sensation, because he's never wished something like that on Jin before. They've always been close, supportive, loving. Never had secrets. This is one hell of a secret. It's much bigger than Yamapi, than Jin, than the two of them together. Jin never asked, he supposes, and if he knew Yamapi was on the same case, he'd have asked. Jin doesn't know.

Suddenly, Yamapi feels as though he's cheated. There's an awful awkwardness about it. As if Jin's just about to walk in, find him entwined around another person. Only it isn't a person, just a great, big, ripe secret. Juicy and full and all his own. 

A better boyfriend would tell Jin. The big question is: is Yamapi a lawyer first, or a lover? The truth is, he doesn't know. 

 

Jin gets out the car with the others, stretches his legs. The air is cool, fresh, somehow familiar.

“Your boyfriend?” one of the men repeats.

“Yes,” he says, idly. “I know it doesn't go down well at office parties, not being heterosexual, but yes.”

“What did he say?”

“None of your business!”

“It might be our business,” Tego says. “He's a lawyer too, isn't he?”

“Yeah,” Jin says. “So? It's not like we're working on the same case.”

They give him looks. And then, they give him Looks. 

“Go and search around the lake,” they say. “If you can't convince him to spill you a secret or two. We'll go and talk with the police.”

 

Jin walks towards the lake, trying to steady his mind enough so that he can think. He doesn't understand why he feels like he's been here before. He hasn't. He's never been outside of Tokyo. A part of him went into law to get the experiences, the life-changing events, that he couldn't afford to get by travelling. He wanted an exciting life. He didn't want to work in some dreary office all his life. He's never been here before, and yet it seems to familiar. 

And then, then there's Yamapi. They could be working on the same case. It's not out of the question, just bad luck. Sometimes it happens. They knew it might, the moment they decided to specialize in opposing teams. It's just that Jin never foresaw this. He never thought that it might lead to a problem like this. He wants to call Yamapi, to ask him where the murder weapon is, before Yamapi realises that Jin's working for the other side. But that's too cruel, he can't bring himself to do it. He's a lover, before he's a lawyer. That much, he has to keep remembering. Law gives him experiences, brings joy into his life, but it isn't Yamapi. Without Yamapi, he doesn't think he'd be able to feel joy at all. 

So he continues rummaging through the shrubbery, feeling unnerved, wanting to go home. Stray fireworks lie in the bushes, a piece of paper wafts by. _I missed you at the show_. Fireworks, show. Makes sense. He's outside cabin 893, a strange number for a cabin, he thinks. Great view of the lake, though. He wonders whether this man, Nishikido Ryo, stayed in this cabin. Perhaps the murder weapon is in here, after all. The door is ajar, so he pushes it, and walks through the door. 

 

Yamapi goes back into work, needing the quiet of his office over the vague smell of sex in their bedroom. He goes through the case, even looks at the autopsy pictures, which he always hated doing at university. It's when he sees that there are no stab wounds. He was expecting awful, gory stab wounds. Instead, the victim looks as though she's been burnt. Burnt with a circular instrument, her chest raised and red. That doesn't make sense. A knife wouldn't do the sort of damage. They must be looking for the wrong murder weapon.

He 'phones one of his colleagues for advice. 

“Waiting for divers to get here,” the man says. “Thanks for the tip-off, about the lake. Prosecution don't seem to have a clue. It's good news.”

“No problem,” Yamapi says. “I was going through the autopsy report-”

“Yeah, it doesn't quite fit, does it? That's our angle. We'll know more when we get the knife.”

“What if it isn't the murder weapon? It could be something else.”

“Nishikido Ryo has admitted that he stabbed her with that blade. Maybe it'll make sense when we see the blade. If you're bothered, look up similar cases in the database. See if you can't find anything else that's odd, doesn't fit. I think this case gets more and more interesting by the minute.”

 

Jin prowls around the small cabin. Burnt out candles, there's that sort of smell in the air. He loves candles. The cabin is stuffy and freezing, unlike the lake air. It's unfortunate, because it exacerbates his cough, which gets worse by the day. He had thought that fresh air would do him good, but it doesn't seem to be having much effect. He goes into the bedroom. The bed is unmade, the sheets gone. Room service doesn't seem much cop, then. 

He sits down on the bed, pinches his nose. He doesn't think he wants to be here. He feels uncomfortable, tired, sick. He looks through the cabin from his vantage point, sees a candle burning. Blinking, he questions his judgment: no candles were burning when he came in. And then, there's nothing after all. No candles. Strange. Perhaps he is ill, perhaps he's seeing things. Otherwise, this doesn't make a great deal of sense. 

 

Yamapi can't find anything in the database. This hasn't been done before, this bizarre method of killing. All he can find is vague references to some ghost story, rumored to have happened hundreds of years ago. Yamapi isn't sure they can submit that in a court of law.

He 'phones the colleague back. 

“I found some ghost story,” he says. “About this way of killing people.”

“Ghost story?” the man says. “Right, okay. Go on?”

“Well, apparently it happened once, back in the days of piracy. I don't know an exact date. 1300s, though, probably. According to the story, this pirate ship sailed past a cave rumoured to be full of treasure. They tried to get into the cave, but they couldn't cut the entrance vines down. They had to give up a heart to get inside. They cut out a man's heart to get the treasure.”

“Oh,” the man says. “Yeah, I've heard that story. It's on the radio all the time. Those...fags on the radio sang about it. My daughter sings the song all the time. Drives me crazy.”

“What song?” Yamapi says, surprised.

“Oh, you've not heard it. It's just, yeah, about that story. About love, about sacrifice, stuff like that. You know what rockstars are like, they just embellish things they hear. We can't admit that in a courtroom. It'd make us look like idiots.”

“I don't want to admit the song-”

“Yeah, but that's what the jury will know about. They won't know this ancient story, but they'll know the rockstar version. Forget about it. Stories that old are rarely true, anyway.”

“It just seems weird-”

“Give it up,” the man says. “Got to go. Divers are here.”

Yamapi sits back in his seat. He scrolls down through the text, wondering what happened to the man who lost his heart. He lived, apparently. Seems odd to him. The girl died, so maybe it's not the same thing after all. It just seems strange, the markings sound so similar. It doesn't seem as though Ryo stabbed her. It seems as though he cut out her heart.

Her good, _good_ heart. 

Things come in waves. Small at first, just words. The laugh of a bright, bright man. The words dripping from his lascivious mouth. Jin's heart. He had wanted Jin's heart, in the cave, the treasure somewhere, the ship outside, the smell of sea salt, the fear in Jin's face, the death, the living, the blood in the air, the-

Jin trying to go on, to love on, the moments afterwards, taking the dagger and sailing away, Jin collapsing, the smell of sea salt, the blood in the air, the fear in Yamapi's face. The living. That strangled, struggled living. The colour draining out of everything like a map, like a map gone green to white. Smoke, candles, a hotel room. 893. 893. 893. 

Ieyasu. 

893.

The _lake_.

 

The search teams work quickly. Jin walks out of the cabin to find them there, the divers. They're scouring the surface of the lake, he sees that immediately. His team arrives with the police. They're angry, that they weren't informed about the imminent arrival of the diving teams. It would have saved them time, they're saying. The police just shrug. “Their find,” they say, motioning to the defence team. “Intern got the information, apparently.”

The prosecution team are staring at Jin. Tego looks at him especially hard. 'You're closest to the lake', he seems to be saying. 'Can't you pull something off?'

Jin's 'phone goes off. It's an e-mail, which means that he can check it without arousing the fury of his team members.

_Get out of there. Jin, get out of there. Meet me back at the apartment. Take their car if you have to. It's important. I'll explain later. Just trust me._

_-Yamapi_

Well, that's just another fucking thing that makes no sense, Jin thinks. He's rooted to the spot. He doesn't know whether to stay, or go. He walks down towards the lake front, treading in somebody else's footprints. He wants to run, but he isn't sure why. It wouldn't be a good idea, the ground is wet and muddy. He walks, slowly, carefully. He walks until the water hits his feet, and it doesn't feel wrong, so he keeps going. 

The police are shouting at him, but the water is cool, and refreshing, and right. He has a cough, see, and perhaps this will make it go away. He's knee-deep before he feels it: everything changes. Like water, everything bends to a new shape. He's looking for a dagger, with an edge of a heart. An edge of a heart he's missing. It's his dagger. It's his water. It's his life. 

He scoops the water up in his hands and there's sea salt in his mind, Yamapi's voice in his ear as he lay on the deck, that low tone, that needy, low tone, 'stay with us, stay with us, stay with me'. Did he say that Jin would survive without a heart? He said that Jin would survive without a heart. 

“You have me,” he'd said, and Jin hears it again, clear as a bell. “You'll survive without a heart. I have one, and we'll make do on that. Please, please stay with me.”

And Jin had, he thinks. He'd loved Yamapi as his heartlessness would allow. And Yamapi had loved him back, and it was all fine, until Yamapi had thrown the dagger in the lake – why had he thrown the dagger away? The dagger drowns, Jin's lungs drown. It all makes sense. The ghost couldn't get to it. The ghost, he'd wanted Jin's heart. Jin's heart, in a ghost's chest. Beating. Yamapi had thrown the dagger in the lake.

If Jin can get his hands on the dagger, maybe he can restore-

They're screaming at him, the men on all sides. It must look strange, he supposes, but this is his water. He knows water. He's a pirate, after all. He tries to tell them this, but nobody is listening.

The water turns from murky to white. It loses colour, definition. The divers are confused. Everybody takes a step back. Jin pushes on, because the dagger must be here somewhere, so he pushes on until he can't feel ground under his feet. 

 

Yamapi sits on his desk and waits for a reply. He gets none, after ten minutes. Jin is good with his 'phone. It's an oddity.

He 'phones his colleague back. “What's happening?” he asks. “Have you found the dagger?”

“Dagger?” the man says, laughing. “What are you, 500 years old? It's a knife. No, we haven't. Some lunatic's wandered into the lake. He's prosecution. They're always prosecution. The lake's gone this funny colour, isn't that strange? We're waiting to get the lunatic out of the-”

Yamapi hangs up. He takes several, very deep breaths. None of them help him to breathe. 

 

The man called Ieyasu waits by the side of the lake. The police let him onto the scene of the crime, of course. He says he's here to help. He disappeared, but nobody paid it any mind. Of course.

He's made of smoke, the man called Ieyasu. And he waits, as Akanishi Jin strides out into the water. The water is white, because Akanishi Jin touches it, and Akanishi Jin is colourless. He has only a sliver of a heart. No character. No love. Only what he can sap from the man called Yamapi. Yamapi isn't here, now. 

Yamapi isn't here. Akanishi Jin will bring the dagger to him. It's in the middle of the lake, but it moves, second by second, closer to the striding figure of Akanishi Jin. He won't have the strength to resist. The heartless never do. It's one of their greatest features.

The man called Ieyasu unfurls himself, and waits by the side of the lake. The heart within his chest beats, ready for completion.

“Takauji,” Ieyasu says. Takauji has betrayed him. It will not happen again. 

“You must do me one favour.”


	5. A Thousand Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written in 2007 and includes explicit sexual content and angst.

_When you were young, you kept a list,  
Of the things you'd miss, as you got older.  
I've known you, in every life I've lived.  
In our dreams, we can be complete again._

 

The year, the century, turns itself over and everybody is apprehensive. This is partly because they're waiting for 1600 to make its mark on history, and partly because they're waiting for history to make its mark on 1600. There's discontent, disintegration, political disruption. It's not an ideal position for the people of Japan, but it is an ideal position for the samurai. 

Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the Toyotomi shogun, is dead. Toyotomi Hideyori is his five year old heir, and thus his position is frail. Tokugawa Ieyasu is a samurai rebel, whose position is on the rise. Something must be done. He must be stopped.

They sit there, the five of them, at Sawayama Castle. Ishida Mitsunari's home. He speaks with a deep, full voice. It gives a certain certainty to the proceedings. 

“War is our only option,” he says. He sits at the head of the table, the other men around. “Ieyasu has aspirations that are beyond him. He must be stopped. Hideyori's position is frail, Ieyasu has more power than our regents.”

“If only Hideyoshi hadn't gone to Korea,” one of the men says. “All those worthless campaigns. Nobody goes to Korea and gets to China safely. We told him that.”

“The troops did well on land,” Yamapi says. “It was only at sea that we faltered.”

“Well, that's my point,” the man replies. “The pirates never managed to get to China, did they? They never managed to get that far, anyway. Why should we be any different? We have less money than the pirates ever did!”

“We must take action, nonetheless,” Ishida says. “There's no point in regretting what's past. What's important is that we ready, to fight. The only thing we can and must do is stop Tokugawa Ieyasu.”

They sit around the table, the five men. Their swords are at the door. They sit in peaceful, tense reflection. Their position is treacherous. They sit, as only five men. An alliance. Their job is to inspire a movement to save their clan, protect the regents of Toyotomi Hideyori, and to protect their own futures. 

No small task, then.

 

Emperor Go-Yozei is aware of events, of course. He has to be. For the Japanese court, the samurai government is a source of income. A bank account, as it were, that keeps them afloat in the chaotic political climate. Their own fortunes diminishing by the year, the court relies on the current shogunate to support it. In return, they wield their individual power: legitimizing the samurai who make a successful claim on the shogun title. In so doing, they secure the power of men like Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

This awareness Go-Yozei wishes he could install in his firstborn son. His crown prince, set to take over his rule when he abdicates. The boy, though advanced in years, is not ready yet. Akanishi Jin is still immature. He does not see the joys of literature, poetry or art. He does not read well, recite the ancient texts, the poems, or recognise the art of perfume-creation. None of these things he attempts, instead spending his time roaming the grounds, searching for adventure.

He shows no interest in taking a wife, though he is currently thought shameful for his indifference. Go-Yozei is in the process of arranging a perfect marriage, one he has made known to his son, forced through. His son is not currently speaking to him. Instead, he roams the grounds as he always does, talking to the ladies and men of the court about all the adventures he would have if he were able to escape the walls. A sensitive man, Go-Yozei feels for his son, but he is bound by the traditions by which he lives. Akanishi Jin is almost eighteen, and has neither wife nor sons. He is on the brink of being ostracized by the court, and Go-Yozei's second son is not suitable for the throne. 

With all these troubles in mind, Go-Yozei doesn't welcome the news of further political instability, much less samurai warfare. 

“A battle,” he says, with a deep sigh. “That's all we need.”

“I wish I could fight,” Akanishi Jin says, his only response. The only response he's given his father for a week. “I don't even know how to fight. I can't even wield a sword.”

“There's no need for you to wield a sword,” Go-Yozei says. “Your occupation must be inside the court. We seal our power in other ways. The samurai, those that fund our activities, they fight for us. You must not wish to trade places, lest you cause offense to them. You would not want that life, I assure you.”

“I don't want this one,” Akanishi Jin says. “I'm not you, father. I've tried to be like you. I've really tried, to drum the poetry into my head. To remember the words from the ancient texts. To recite the Buddhist scrolls. I've really tried, to pray. But none of these things have worked for me. I can't stop thinking about other things. I haven't experienced anything, and you're asking me to stay here, my whole life. You're asking me to start the rest of my life, when I haven't even begun living the first bit.”

“I felt the same way, as a boy,” Go-Yozei says, thoughtfully. “I didn't want to be married. I became Emperor first, of course, four years younger than you. Think about that. And then, two years younger than you are now, I was married. You have had a charmed life, boy, and you'd do well to remember that.”

“I'm not ungrateful,” Jin says, hastily. “Just...did you never dream of other things?”

“Of course,” his father says. “I dreamt of all sorts, as a boy. Of being a pirate, of being a samurai warrior. A great warrior. I dreamt of so many things. But in this life, we only get our one existence. We cannot be more than we are. We must not attempt to be more than we are.”

“What if I can't stop dreaming?”

“The ancient texts warn us that idle dreaming will only do us harm, when we cross over. You must die peacefully. Not with regrets, or wishing you'd lived another life. The ancient texts say that if you die with such thoughts on your mind, your soul can be split. That dreams can come true, but in horrifying ways. You want to pass over peacefully. You do not want to live out other lives, after death.”

“But-”

“After death, we do not live as we are now. We live without heart, without morality, without blood – without all that makes us human. I fear this sort of existence. My only dream now is to die peacefully, and without regret. Put your dreams to rest. Grow above them. Read the texts. They shall bring you comfort. Further than that, I cannot help you.”

“Do you believe the ancient texts?” Jin asks, as his father leaves the room. “Split souls, living more lives? Surely it's just...myth. Legends. Things they couldn't describe back then. Surely now, we know better than to invest in that?”

“You are thinking yourself above our ancestors, then?” Go-Yozei says, a raised eyebrow, an angry tone. “You must respect the knowledge of those who came before you. You are a boy, and you know nothing. Not of the battle that we're headed for, nor of the way other people live. You are a young animal, not yet ready for the world away from its mother's body. You must stop this nonsense, and consider who you are. I never want to hear this sort of talk from you again. Do you understand that?”

Jin understands that. He understands a lot more than that, too, but he doesn't want his father to know. There are things that his father shouldn't know.

 

They go to war, the alliance. The five of them find another ally, and soon, six doubles, trebles, becomes thousands and thousands of men. The Western force, they call themselves. They take Tokugawa Ieyasu head-on. They are determined. They are tactically superior. They believe in themselves and their fight. Their cause. 

Only, mistakes are made, alliances break. Soldiers desert them, tempted by the promise in Tokugawa Ieyasu's eyes. Their tactics are shattered. There's a slow decline, a slow losing of everything and anything that ever put them at the top of the game. Men are lost, few at first before the number doubles and trebles and ranks in the thousands.

The battle of Sekigahara is not on their side, and they lose. The six of them do not escape with their lives, not all of them. Yamapi manages to escape, sneaking past the enemy at the late stage of the day. He creeps past, as fast as he can. On his way, Koyama of the Western alliance holds out his stained dagger. He's lying on the ground and his shaky arm rises. Yamapi takes it, turns back to say something, but he's gone. He tries not to feel it. Fleeing is not something he's proud of, not when he sees that the rest are executed for their crimes. Some of the remaining Toyotomi clan go over to Ieyasu's side, because it's better than death. Many of them have families to feed, many of them just aren't ready to give up. 

Yamapi isn't ready to give up, but he's not ready to become a Tokugawa. He'd rather be a ronin, one of Hideyoshi's despised men, a lost samurai. He'd rather be anything than a Tokugawa, even if it means being disgraced.

He's lost his horse, some of his armour. The colours of the clan. He's lost his family. The only thing he has left is his sword, covered in blood, covered in death. And his hands, equally drenched, poisoned, or so it feels. For a while, he lies low. He drinks a lot, with what he can afford to pay. It's the only thing that soaks him more than the blood. He hates himself. The guilt is overwhelming, like a constant rain on his head. He lies in a small inn room, his sword on the floor. He doesn't eat, just drinks. Doesn't consider his next move, because there is no next move.

This is it. He hadn't planned the beyond. He was relying on Ishida. He was relying on victory. Ishida is dead. Decapitated. His head is on a stick at the gates to Kyoto, a reminder to the city that Tokugawa's authority is something they no longer can question. He hasn't heard, whether the Emperor has sanctioned Tokugawa Ieyasu yet. He no longer has any contacts, who could let him know. 

1600 has made its mark, and history too. Yamapi lies on a cold bed, in a cold room, with a cold drink – and he wonders whether he's just picking the cowardly route. Drinking himself to death, it isn't what Ishida would have wanted.

Then again, Ishida wouldn't have wanted his head on a stick, either. 

And it gives him an idea, of sorts.

 

In the dead of the night, Yamapi walks towards the city walls. He wears his kamishimo with determination, a kind of bittersweet pride. These were the clothes that established him as a samurai, a man at the top of his tree. A proud, Toyotomi man. The colours looked faded, now. As if some of the life has gone out of them, as well as out of the men Yamapi fought alongside. Yet he can't bring himself to take them off. It's just one more loss he doesn't feel that he can cope with. 

Over the clothes, he wears his battle coat, the only other thing he hasn't lost in battle. He remembers that even as his armour was lost, he clung to it. Ishida had given it to him, on the night at Sawayama Castle. He'd given Jin-baori to all of the alliance, each with an individual representation, a mark of personal significance. Yamapi's was a tiger, because Ishida thought he fought like one. That he was brave, bold, thickly-set. Not a coward. Not the best fighter, not the leader, but the one most likely to hold ground, to keep belief, to keep strong. Yamapi doesn't feel that it's very apt, anymore, but he refuses to be separated from it. 

Those still milling around Kyoto pay him little mind. They're used to samurai, and though the colours he's wearing cause the raising of eyebrows, nobody confronts him directly. They're as unsure as he is, about Tokugawa. It seems that Ieyasu hasn't been officially sanctioned yet, which gives Yamapi some time and protection. He feels wobbly, from alcohol withdrawal and lack of food, but he hasn't money for food and he's gone longer without before. He wonders where he'll go after he carries out his plans. The life of a ronin, he supposes. He'll go wherever the mood takes him.

Perhaps he'll provide some farming family with protection. He knows that the peasant classes are abused in these turbulent times. Perhaps he could do a little farming himself. He's not sure of the work, exactly, but he's never been afraid of solid graft and many people could use an extra hand nowadays. There's a lot of insecurity in the air, and Yamapi tries not to think about the future. Not yet. The past hasn't gone yet. His family, his friends, not long passed. Yamapi didn't have a moment to pray for them, to send them over peacefully. He hopes that they got there. 

After some time, he reaches the city walls, where the heads are. There are no people around, because the people no longer think there's anything to see. Everyone has come to see the faces of the disgraced and now, they go about their business as if nothing ever happened. That's 1600, Yamapi thinks. That's the turn of the century. Death is no longer shocking. Battles no longer surprises. The people accept whatever man stands atop the country, whether he's of good nature or bad. The people are indifferent, and no longer care.

At this moment in time, with everything lost, Yamapi can understand that.

 

Jin looks around the corner at the guards, who lie sleeping. Their limbs are spread across the stairs, akimbo, it makes for a funny image. Jin leads the horse around, shushing her as he goes. She regards him with faint amusement, or so it seems she does. Nobody stirs. The grounds are quiet, with only the chirping of insects and the wave of the breeze to disturb the silence. Jin supposes that some are awake, somewhere. The night is good for couples, for business. His father sleeps, his attendants do, too. Jin mounts his horse, takes tentative steps across the courtyard. Nobody wakes. Nobody leans from a window, or draws a door across to yell, “you, there!”

The people who live in the court are used to the comings and goings of all sorts of people and their horses. This is not unusual. Jin had always disliked the presence of businessmen, of other important people – but now, he's thankful for every mammoth dinner, every long ceremony, every endless session of prayer. Now, he's thankful for each moment of it, because his horse breaks into a canter, then a gallop, and not a single person interrupts them. They fly across the stonework, Jin feeling for the first time a sense of freedom and adventure and an open path of limitless possibility. It's exhilarating, like breathing in oxygen for the first moment of life. He wants to shout, but of course, he can't. 

He gets onto the open road and makes short work of it, the palace glittering over his shoulder for only a few minutes before it vanishes. The world is dark outside. He's never been, and he's surprised by the dim light. He hadn't thought that the palace was so bright because of all of the illuminating fires, the firework displays, the colour, the vitality. The world outside is dark, unable to afford such luxury. Jin likes it. It feels real. He doesn't fit into it: he wears layers of beautiful, expensive fabric. Silks, mostly, with emblematic designs suited to a crown prince. They are blue, blue and green. The colour of a ruler, his father would often say, in the hope of inspiring him. 

It never worked: Jin preferred red. His overcoat, cotton, thick and warm, that's red. Red with gold embroidery, and a black tie around the middle. His boots are black. His hat, too. Red is a lucky colour across the seas, but his father disapproves of missions abroad, of the taking of culture from other nations. Of anything beyond the palace walls, much less the shores of Japan. Jin loves the colour red, and all that its luckiness stands for. He hopes one day to visit China. Even to get to Korea, that would be something. 

He passes small villages after a time, and by minute they get smaller and less grandiose. The further he goes from the palace, the more poverty seems obvious to him. He was never aware of such things. His father has seen to it. This is the world as it really is, and none of the ancient books Jin was told to read accurately described it. He feels cheated, as if his entire life has been a falsehood. Things are lost to him in every second. Visions he had of life vanish at every turn, replaced with new insight. Farmers are in the fields, even at nightfall. They worry about the crops, and the feudal lords on their backs. They are full of worry, it can be seen in their backs. 

Jin rides on, determined to reach the city walls. Beyond there, he doesn't know where he will go. The world is open to him, now. He can go anywhere he chooses. He is unsure, but in time, he'll think of something. Being an adventurer is this way, and for all the wealth in the world, he wouldn't be back in the palace. His father will miss him, with despair and some devastation, but he will survive. He will choose somebody better to rule. Jin has done him a favour. A selfish and unkind favour, but a favour nonetheless.

 

Yamapi takes out the rusted, bloody dagger from his boot. There it served as a constant reminder. It is bent a little out of shape, but it will do. Perhaps it will honour Koyama, too, to do what he knows is right. Looking around him, the coast being clear, he turns the dagger into the wooden pole in the centre of the wall. Looking up, Ishida's head looks forward impassively. He has no expression. No image could be further from Ishida's true person. Ishida in life was never indifferent. He believed that indifference was a sickness, something Yamapi took to heart, in the end. 

Silently, he begins to cut. Steadying the pole with his free hand, he cuts slices away from its length so that it gently lowers. Yamapi does not want it to fall. He does not want the head to be damaged. It takes some time, and a lot of strength, and Yamapi's shoulder aches by the end. He thinks it must have been hit during the battle but he hasn't checked, he isn't sure. Sometimes it's best not to, to allow wounds to heal on their own. But after some time, the head is on eye level with Yamapi's face, and Yamapi sighs, looking into Ishida's dead, dull eyes. 

“I am so sorry,” he says, his eyes closing with grief. “I failed you. I failed you twice. I could not win our battle, and I could not die respectably with you. I failed you, twice.”

Nothing is said, no words of condemnation or comfort. Yamapi wasn't expecting it: samurai don't approve much of the supernatural. It distracts from what it inside a person. If you believe that otherworldly spirits have the power to influence your mind, your mind is weakened. You must by association believe in the weakness of your mind and the limitation of your person. This does not go in accordance with samurai tradition, and so respect is given to supernatural forces, but nothing more. It does not do to anger the gods, but nor does it do to dance with them. That is what Ishida used to say. Something Yamapi took to heart, also. 

Yamapi carries with him a thick, black sack. It is not respectful in itself, not fit for a man like Ishida, but it is more fit than being on a pole, and it is all Yamapi has with him. With effort and with bitter, wretched pain, Yamapi removes the head from the pole. His discards the hated stick with feeling as he goes, but the head takes a little pulling to release. It sickens Yamapi, the struggle, and he forces back tears as hard and as roughly as he can, because it doesn't do to give into emotion in a time where strength is demanded. He chokes back a sob as the skull releases, and as he envelops Ishida's lifeless face in black fabric. He carefully ties the bag together, secure as he can make it, and looks around him. He needs to find a way to get out of the city. He can walk for some time, but eventually he will become too exhausted. 

As if a supernatural force has indeed stepped onto the floor and offered a dancing hand, the sound of hoof beats can be heard in the distance. Yamapi decides to stand his ground. Listening intently, he can hear only one horse. If guards had been sent to capture him, hearing of the treachery occurring, there would be more than four hooves smacking the road beyond. It might be an enemy, right enough, but it isn't a guard, he's sure of that. And the horse, big and black, pulls around the corner. It wears red, red coat, gold stitching. It isn't a colour Yamapi recognises. The man is not samurai. The man sits atop the horse in a similar coat, looking down with surprise and some anxiety.

Not a guard. Not anyone at all, but for the richness of the garments. Could be a thief, Yamapi supposes. He stands his guard, a man against a horse, and wonders if this is why Ishida referred to him as a tiger. Tigers aren't clever enough to know when to turn tail and run. 

 

Jin urges his horse to go forward. There's men gaining on him, and he's worried that they're from the palace. They're not dressed in the usual attire, but they're shouting about something, and so he pushes forward. The men get closer and closer, and then Jin can hear what they're yelling to one another.

“He was sighted not more than five minutes ago,” one is saying. “Probably an opportunist. You can sell teeth and bone, you know. It can make money. Strange, the things that sell...”

“Or he could be political,” another one interjects. “This isn't just any head he's removing, think about that. Leader of the rebellion, that Ishida. The thief could be dangerous.”

Not from the palace, then, Jin thinks, but he picks up speed nonetheless. He doesn't want to run into this thief, or become entangled in whatever justice the men feel like doling out. His horse reluctantly breaks into a gallop and he soon escapes them, turning the corner and arriving at the city walls. 

There, he sees a man carrying a bloodstained bag. 

 

The man draws his dagger. He's wary, holding tight onto his bag. Jin just stares at him. This surely must be the thief. He leans over, says, “I'm not here to capture you.”

Yamapi is listening. Jin's horse has stopped, but there's more hoof beats in the background. That means that he isn't alone. His face contorts with worry. 

“And those behind you?” he says. 

“They're...out to catch a thief,” Jin says. Then, he has an idea. This could be the start of the adventure he's waited for. This man needs safety from the men who seek to capture him, and Jin needs an adventure. What better way than for them to team up?

“Jump on,” he says, quickly, reaching his hand out. Yamapi looks up, measuring up his options. Not that he has many. He takes Jin's hand, hauls himself up with ease. The horse isn't comfortable, and he pats her shoulder awkwardly. He's in front of Jin, perhaps because Jin doesn't trust him – who would, a man carrying around a decapitated head? -- but it makes him feel unbalanced. As they ride off, it doesn't quite work, until Jin shuffles back a bit. He's trying to control the horse with his arms around Yamapi's waist, and that isn't quite working, either. 

“Is this as fast as she can go?” Yamapi yells back, spotting the first of the men, giving chase, a spot in the distance. 

“She's got two on her back!” Jin splutters. “I don't think she can-”

“Sure she can,” Yamapi says. “Let me have the rein.”

Jin does, because he doesn't want to mess with the man carrying the decapitated head. And once he does, the horse seems to settle, finally understanding which of them she's supposed to serve. She breaks into faster speed easily at the nudge of Yamapi's heel, and Jin has to hang onto Yamapi's waist in order not to slip off. The road rushes past, the air cold as it whizzes by. Above their heads, the stars are so clear and so beautiful, Jin thinks they could drive a man mad, trying to uncover their secrets. A hidden map in the sky, impenetrable to all beneath it. 

“Where are we going?” Jin yells, leaning into Yamapi's ear to make sure he can hear.

“I'll tell you once we've lost them,” Yamapi yells back. “I guess you're a runaway, so you don't care where we go, anyway.”

“I'm not a run-”

“You're not in any hurry to get home.”

“No. I no longer have a home.”

“That makes two of us,” Yamapi says, nudging the horse on. “Keep an eye on the lot of them, tell me if they gain or fall back.”

“If you haven't got a home, where are you taking me?” Jin looks over his shoulder, and the question reaches Yamapi on the wind. 

Yamapi rolls his eyes. He's not sure how these things keep happening to him. He hopes that Ishida is enjoying the ride, wherever he is now. “To a place where asking questions is illegal,” he returns.

“Oh, really,” Jin says, grinning. “Where's that?”

 

Yamapi's horsemanship ensures that after twenty minutes or so, they lose the men. After that, Yamapi slows the horse a little, and Jin allows the breath to leave his lungs. It's starting to get light: there's a slice of dawn on the horizon. Jin is hungry, and tired, but he doesn't let on. He's starting to suspect that the man he's riding with is samurai: he's dressed that way, and although he's dirty and smells like alcohol, he carries himself like a noble warrior. He carries no sword, but his dagger is intimidating enough. 

He hopes that the samurai doesn't recognise Jin. Sometimes, the warriors do. Jin isn't wearing palace colours but many of the warriors have met with him, and have suffered his incessant questioning. Jin has one of those recognisable faces, he's been told. 

“What's your name?” he asks, as they ride past a forest. Yamapi has stopped the horse, allowed her to drink. He's stretching his legs, keeping a watchful eye out. 

“Yamashita Tomohisa,” he replies, idly. There's nobody about. The farmers aren't even up yet. 

“I'm-”

“Listen,” he goes on. “It's starting to get light. People are going to see us. I'm going to walk by the horse.”

“Why?” Jin says, frowning. “Won't that slow things down?”

“Because she's tired,” Yamapi says. “And because you're from the court. It won't do to have you recognised in my company.”

“Aren't you samurai?” Jin asks. “I thought that it would have been an honour for me to be seen with you. I'm often seen with samurai.”

“I'm Toyotomi,” Yamapi says, by way of explanation. A shadow crosses Jin's face, and he nods, understanding. No wonder Yamapi looks so anxious. Jin may not understand the ins-and-outs of the politics, but he does understand the way things work with the winners, and the losers. He understands that small twists of fate can render one's life unrecognisable. He does understand that. 

“How did you know I was a court man?” he asks, as he climbs back onto the horse.

“Easy,” Yamapi says, grinning. “You've no idea how to ride a horse.”

 

They pass many people along their way, past forests, open farming landscapes. Wherever they can, they attempt to take the road less travelled, but it doesn't always work out. Word has spread about the ronin-thief, and Yamapi feels uncomfortable walking along beside the horse. Few people even look at Jin. They see that he's rich but his face isn't familiar. They do, however, stare at Yamapi. Carrying a bloodstained bag, he supposes that it's inevitable. 

Eventually, it becomes unbearable, the whispering and the people that scuttle off, full of purpose. Yamapi is very worried. 

Jin leans over the side of the horse, tries to lift the bag away. Yamapi holds tight, turns on his heels. 

“I can hide it beneath my robes,” Jin says. His robes are loose and flowing now, the day beginning to warm up. “Nobody will see it.”

“You have no idea what this _is_ -”

“I know what it is,” Jin says, calmly. “The men were talking about it, when they were following me last night. I know what you've stolen. I worked it out.”

“How did you work it out?”

“Well, they mentioned teeth and bones, and its shape is-”

“And you want to carry it?”

“Yes,” Jin says. “I don't want our cover blown. People are staring.”

“Be very, very careful-”

“I will. Whose is it?”

“Friend,” Yamapi says. Then, “brother. Brother. Imagine it to be your own brother.” 

He hands over the bag, carefully. He's not even certain what he's going to do with it, but it felt right and he's not going to worry about it just now. All he wants to do is make it to his clan, back in the small village between the hills. If he can get there, perhaps he can regroup, pass on the awful news to what remains of friends and family. Perhaps he can find peace, comfort once again. 

“We're going to the closest thing I have to home,” Yamapi says. 

“Oh,” Jin says. “Fine. Will I like it?”

“Who knows,” Yamapi says. “Why did you leave home?”

Jin shrugs. “Claustrophobia.”

“In that big building?”

“Yeah,” Jin laughs. “Isn't that a funny thing?”

Yamapi takes the reins, leads the horse on once again. “Guess not. The place I feel most free is in a small room, facing another man, turning tea cups this way and that. Makes sense that a man could feel most constricted in a large building, if the people in it-”

“They're not bad people,” Jin says, hastily. “Just-”

“Not for you.”

“Not for me,” Jin says. “Not with me. Not my life.”

“What is your life?”

Jin thinks about this for a moment, riding astride a strange horse, beside a strange man, and carrying a human head next to his stomach. “I'm not sure,” he says, truthfully. “I haven't decided yet.”

 

Tokugawa Ieyasu bestows plaudits upon those who turn toward him in battle. He doesn't value these traitors as much as his own men, but in a time of violence, every soldier counts. He shows mercy and kindness on those who have deserted the Western alliance, and his men love him for it. 

He meets with his closest allies after the battle. Seven of them sit around a table, triumphantly dissecting their victory. It isn't often that such enormous odds turn in their favour. Ieyasu is a lucky man, and he knows it. He sits at the head of the table, positively glowing. 

“It is down to each one of you,” he begins, grandly. “That our side has been successful, triumphant, in the heat of the battle. We have come out of the other side most gloriously, victors in every sense. I am told by the priests that the gods are shining down on the Eastern alliance. Long may it continue.”

The men bow their heads, reverent and pleased. They are expecting a great many, great things. 

“Small problems are niggling away in the provinces,” Ieyasu continues. “And I have men seeing to these issues. You must not concern yourselves with tales of petty thievery or violence. You are above this earthly matters. Instead, I urge you to take stock, to return to your provinces, to feed your hearts and brains with such bountiful peace so as to return to me as gods, not mere men. Your rewards, as expected, for loyalty and bravery – these shall follow on shortly. It would do me great honour to see you all rested and strong, ready for the next part of my campaign.”

The men nod more, none of them keen to speak, to interrupt. 

“Takauji,” Ieyasu says, waving the others dismissed. “Speak to me.”

The man they all call Takauji waits behind. He doesn't speak, just looks at his hands. He was caught attempting to turn tail mid-battle, the Western alliance suddenly more appealing. He was found delivering evidence to the other side, warning them of attacks to come. Ieyasu decided not to have him killed on the battle site. He has other ideas in mind.

“I am sorry,” the man called Takauji says. “But I had not intended to survive this. I will not apologise for my actions because I would not have taken them without due thought, without...deep contemplation of them. To apologise now would make it look as though I acted on a whim. I do not betray my leaders on a whim. To betray you...was a hard and bitter thing.”

“I am not interested,” Ieyasu says. “In your morality, its many and various shades. You betrayed me, and as such, you deserve to suffer for it. Your family too. I've heard that you have an aging father?”

“I am in this life to protect and support him,” Takauji says. “It is true.”

“Then should he not suffer with you? For your actions, for your betrayal of the man putting food on your father's table? Did you not think of this before you acted?”

“I did,” Takauji says. “It was a hard and bitter thing, to abandon my father. But I believe-”

“Your ethical considerations are of no interest. You must expect that I will hurt your father terribly.”

Takauji bows his head, almost with the weight of the words. “I did expect this.”

“Once upon a time, I believe you wanted to be a navigator, did you not?”

“Yes,” Takauji says. “It was the profession of my ancestors, long ago. The line has been passed down, through the family. I didn't have the gift.”

“Indeed,” Ieyasu says. “It explains why your logical reasoning is so derelict.”

“My logical reasoning?”

“Or perhaps it functions perfectly. Shall we test it?”

“We should-”

“I will give you another chance, to redeem yourself in my favour. Should you succeed, I shall not harm your father. Furthermore, I shall promote you. You shall have a greater salary, greater land assets and more protection within the realm. Your father will be far better protected.”

“I wanted to cross over to another clan,” Takauji says. “You do understand that?”

“I do,” Ieyasu says. “But that clan is gone. It no longer poses a threat to your immature, senseless mind. Do you want to take up my generous offer, or should I leave for your province this minute?”

Though the decision to betray Ieyasu did indeed take weeks, the decision to follow him once more takes no more than seconds. Takauji has no other choice. For his father, he has no choice. There is no longer a place for him in this world. No longer does the Toyotomi clan exist. There is nothing worth losing his father for, not anymore. Once, there was. Now, the world is a blank space, devoid of meaning, colour, understanding. 

Had he been a navigator, perhaps this would never have happened. His father had the gift, to read and understand maps in great depth. His father before him, and his before him – the line stretches back centuries. Only Takauji doesn't have the gift. His gifts are of a different sort. The future is bleak to him, each way that he turns. 

“I shall take it,” he says, finally, with a hard and a bitter voice. “You are too generous.”

“I am,” Ieyasu says, nodding to himself. “It's true. I want you to find me the thief who stole the head of Ishida Mitsunari.”

“I thought that we weren't to concern ourselves with petty things.”

“They are not. You are a petty thing to me, therefore it seems greatly appropriate,” Ieyasu says. “The Kyoto governors will aid you. You must track this man down. He is dangerous to me.”

“What do we know of him?”

“Nothing, other than that he heads for Fushimi. That is your task. It's generally believer than he is a Toyotomi-sympathizer. He escaped with another man, perhaps another straggler of the clan. I want both of them brought to me.”

“That sounds fair,” Takauji says. He had been expecting something more bloodthirsty.

“Alive.”

“Yes,” Takauji says. “Of course.”

“Do not,” Ieyasu says, his voice firm and his eyes alight as he turns them onto the young soldier. “Do not fail me again. There is no describing what I will do, when betrayed twice.”

Takauji swallows, and leaves the room. There's a hard, bitterness in his throat and he doesn't feel as though he can breathe. It's as if his lungs are filling with hot sand, and there's nothing left in there that's going to make him feel alright, ever again.

 

Ieyasu pauses, as Takauji leaves the room. He speaks to the man they call Yoshinobu, who walks past Takauji on his way in. He has an old, firm face, and it scares Takauji to look at him. 

“Enter,” Ieyasu says. “You have news.”

“They are headed for Fushimi, as you expected.” Yoshinobu says. “I don't believe the other man is a soldier. We are not yet sure who he is.”

“Takauji will be able to understand, when he meets them both.”

“You are so sure of his gift-”

“I saw it the moment we first met,” Ieyasu says, fiercely. “Takauji has the gift I've longed for, all my life. To see the future, and the past, with such clarity. He has no idea this gift belongs to him. No idea at all. I have utilized it before, in small matters, but on a mission such as this-”

“What if he fails?”

“He won't fail,” Ieyasu says. “Men in my command do not fail me.”

“He has failed you before.”

“He is young,” Ieyasu says. “He will learn. He is too precious for me to lose. He has seen so many things in the past. He knows that the thief is important, though he doesn't know why. He has seen that name imprinted on the scroll of history. We have not gone far enough back to uncover the secret-”

“Perhaps there is no secret,” Yoshinobu says. “Perhaps he is all pretense. I have never heard of Yamashita Tomohisa. Nor have any of my scholars, who compile your census, your historical documents. The name is quite simply not imprinted anywhere. I cannot see where your Takauji sources his information, if not from the very centre of his head.”

“He sees it, Yoshinobu,” Ieyasu says. “You will see. When he meets him, the pieces will fall into place.”

“How do you know it'll even be of relevance to our campaign?” Yoshinobu asks. “This man, this thief, he could turn out to be nobody. Perhaps he insulted Takauji's great-grandfather, seventy times removed. He might see something small, a speck on the horizon that turns out to be nothing.”

“And such a speck might indeed be land, too,” Ieyasu says. “I think this Yamashita Tomohisa is important. I sense, too, that on some moment, somewhere, our paths crossed.”

“I do not believe that we live more than once,” Yoshinobu says. “Nor that we can recall more than one life.”

“I did not believe it possible,” Ieyasu says. “Until Takauji had a vision. Of water, and sea salt, and ships-”

“He wanted to become a navigator. His house would have been surrounded by such trinkets-”

“You will not speak out of turn!”

“Forgive my negativity, but I must reason with-”

“You do not reason!” Enraged, Ieyasu turns on his colleague, his eyes burning forest fires. “You merely peck, a little hen, a little scuttling hen! You shall see! All of you shall see, what this boy is capable of. He is a telescope that sees across centuries. I intend to use him, wring him out until he is limp and his powers exhausted. I want that telescope, Yoshinobu. And neither you, nor any other bitter little hen, will put me off! You are dismissed.”

“Ieyasu-”

“ _Dismissed_.”

 

They arrive at Fushimi, and Yamapi feels a swell of pain in his throat. He doesn't know how many of his family members will be around, and just the scent of the air, the wave of the grass, the arrangement of the clouds – these things evoke great, burning nostalgia within him. 

Jin removes his hat, out of respect. He's growing to like him, is Yamapi. He's a little bit wayward and a little thoughtless, but he has great curiosity and heart, and Yamapi likes that. He finds the court men frustratingly narrow-minded most of the time. 

They walk over the hills, Yamapi, Jin, the horse. Yamapi breaks into speed, lets go of her reins, as he sees the first of the small, wooden-built residences. He breaks into a run, flying past the flags and the costumes on the ground, small nubs of armour. He runs into the small village, looks around himself for signs of life.

Jin comes up behind, the horse coming to a tired standstill. Everyone has moved on. Nothing remains: no horses, no people, no children, no life. There is no death in the air, but no life, either. Everyone has moved on. It's like the colour is drawn out of Yamapi, who sighs on the wind. 

“I'd hoped to see somebody,” he says, quietly. “Anybody.”

Jin dismounts, stands still. He's not sure what to say, or do. 

“We'll stay,” Yamapi says, turning around. “For a sleep. Whilst I work out my next plan. There's stables, to the right of you. For the horse.”

Jin is grateful for the excuse to leave Yamapi in peace.

 

Yamapi does a thorough search of the village, just to make sure. He finds rice that's been left, suggesting the clan left in a hurry. It takes a big reason to leave without waiting for the soldiers to return, and he takes comfort in the fact that the decision wasn't easy. The women of the clan were intelligent, spirited – they wouldn't have allowed danger to knock on their doors. In some of the rooms, there are clothes, items they just couldn't manage to take. Yamapi sees the robes and the patterns, as clearly as if his friends were wearing them still, and it hurts him inside. 

He tries to put these thoughts out of his mind, collecting what food there is, what blankets and what armour is left, for protection. Most of it won't fit exactly, but it will do. It's late afternoon, and he just wants to sleep. When Jin returns, they sleep for some time, restlessly and full of dreams. Yamapi has long tried to interpret his dreams, encouraged by his feudal lord. He was never very good at it, it being more an art than a science. But he always understood the relevance of dreams, in the life to come. 

Sleeping alongside Jin, he dreams about water, in long, vast endlessness and in a smaller form, surrounded by trees. In one scenario, the water just goes on forever, and they sail through it, waiting for land. Waiting for a plan. This is being lost, Yamapi thinks. This is them as they are now, lost. In the other scenario, the water is fixed, round, and only Jin is there. Yamapi watches omnipotently but he is not present. Jin wades through the water, and it closes around him as he goes deeper, deeper, deeper into the lake. Eventually, he disappears, and only his hand can be seen, protruding through. The water appears white, at first, but then Yamapi realises that it isn't that, it isn't that the liquid has changed colour, it's that it's _ice_ -

That's not a dream he can interpret. The waking from it, maybe, but not the dream inside. He rises up, covered in sweat and breathing hard through his nostrils. His heart beats with abject terror. Looking over at Jin, he can't understand the weight on his shoulders. The burden on his heart. Jin sleeps, quietly and peacefully, and Yamapi feels a kind of care he hasn't felt in weeks. It doesn't make any sense, but it's so much nicer than indifference, alcoholism, guilt – he doesn't argue with it.

 

They wake later and eat rice. Yamapi makes a fire and they sit on the ground, watching the stars. They're both aware that they'll need to move on from this place, because it's an obvious location to anyone looking for Yamapi. But Yamapi doesn't want to leave, not just yet. It's home to him. The little village between two mountains, two overbearing monsters with grassy-green chests. And an array of stars up above. 

“Have you always lived here?” Jin asks, looking up from his food. 

Yamapi nods. “All my life. I was born here, in one of those rooms. My mother died when I was born, and the people here raised me. It was my family. It was my home. I left only to fight for it.”

“You'll meet them again.”

“Yes,” Yamapi says, his voice firm. “They will find me, or I will find them. That's how family works.”

“I hope not,” Jin says, laughing. “Only because I don't want to be found.”

“Were your family unkind to you?”

“No,” Jin says, guiltily. “Not at all. I just couldn't do it anymore. My father wanted me to be married. He was arranging it. I couldn't become him. I couldn't become Emp-”

“You're the crown prince,” Yamapi says slowly, things falling into place. “You're-”

“Yes,” Jin says. “I couldn't do it. I had to run away. My father will choose somebody else. It's better this way.”

“What did you expect to find, running away?” Yamapi asks. “There's nothing out here, in the world. The world you know is not...this world.”

“I wanted to know this world,” Jin says. “I wanted to know something other than what I've always known. I've felt restless my entire life, as if I've been looking for something and never found it. I've always been curious. I'm searching for peace, I suppose.”

“Peace,” Yamapi snorts. “Not much of that around, I'm afraid.”

“I don't know,” Jin says. “I feel pretty peaceful right now.”

“I wish I did,” Yamapi says. “I need to go and bury-”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Yamapi doesn't think it would be appropriate, in a way, to have some stranger presiding over the burial of his brother, but Ishida would probably have liked it. Ishida liked the court, he liked to visit it, to speak with the Emperor. He disliked other samurai, but the court was something he never bore ill will. He was generous to the men there, the women, too. 

“Yes,” he says. “If you want. Ishida Mitsunari visited the court. He liked it. It wouldn't be inappropriate.”

“I think I remember him,” Jin says, as they climb to their feet. “He liked the dancing. He always requested dancing.”

“Yes,” Yamapi says, laughing. “He pitied us, the samurai were no good at dancing.”

Yamapi and Jin walk across the fields, Yamapi grabbing tools left behind on the way. They're not perfect and the digging will take time, but they'll do. He allows Jin to hold the bag, whilst he digs, until his back is sweaty and his shoulder is aching once again. Then, he allows them to change positions. Jin is unused to digging, but he works hard, and soon there's a grave befitting Ishida Mitsunari. Yamapi takes the bag, then, carefully unwraps it. Jin has to turn away, then. He doesn't want to, but he can't look. It's just not something he can look at. 

On one knee, Yamapi places the head down, and moves the ground back over it. He says words under his breath, and Jin cannot hear them, he doesn't try to. He stands, silently, watching over. The stars seem to be watching, too. All above them, darkness. Jin wants to ride with the stars, to chase them until they end, to see if they ever end. He wonders if there's a place so dark that the stars will not shine there. An entire, black sky. The idea scares him a bit, but he'd still like to see it. 

Yamapi draws himself up, looks at Jin and his eyes are wet. Jin wants to touch him, to console him – but it hardly seems appropriate. So Jin nods, and Yamapi nods, and there's something of a sad solemnity in it. A bridging of lost souls, a giving of mutual understanding. 

 

Yoshinobu's voice echoes in Takauji's skull. It's something he and Ieyasu do, and Takauji didn't ask to be involved. He hates that he can hear another person in his own, private head.

“Where are you?” Yoshinobu says. 

Takauji looks at the stars, the only navigational gift he has. “I'm maybe five miles away from Fushimi,” he says. “I haven't slept, and will not, until-”

“You know that I don't believe in this mission. I see no purpose in it.”

“That is not for me to comment on,” Takauji says. “If Ieyasu believes-”

“You are not loyal to Ieyasu.”

“That is not for me to comment on, either-”

“Your aging father. Do you get on well?”

“I love him.”

“Does he love you?”

“I have no idea,” Takauji says. “His memory of such things is not what it used to be. It doesn't matter. He is my father.”

“You must tell me when you arrive,” Yoshinobu says. “And you must capture the thief, before the other man. The thief is the important one.”

“I don't understand why-”

“That is not for _me_ to comment on.”

 

They're awake, all night. As long as the fire continues. They talk about family, about childhood, about memories. They talk about women (neither of them having much impetus or experience) and they talk about men (something of a different story).

“In our world,” Yamapi says. “It is not discouraged. I imagine that in yours-”

“It's different, yes,” Jin says. “It's not normal, or honourable. To be close to another noble man, yes, that is desirable. To share poetry, to discuss art. To be friends with that man. But not to want to read poetry to him, or to bare your soul. That is what we do with court ladies, not men.”

“How did you cope with that?”

“I didn't,” Jin says. “I got into trouble a lot, with my father. He caught me in a few...situations. It made our relationship strained. The last time it happened, that's what made him arrange a marriage. He'd have enough.”

“Who was the man?”

“Just a man,” Jin says. “He was serious, and worldly, and he'd seen things outside the palace. He wasn't like the people I knew in the court. He cared about other things, too. He satisfied my curiosity.”

“For me, it was stability. This is a chaotic world. Sometimes we develop relationships just to have a sticking place. A spot that doesn't move. Something to come back to.”

“For me, my whole world was a sticking place. Nothing moves, or changes. Everything is always the same. I wanted something that would shake my whole life up.”

“I suppose this is where we agree to be careful what we wish for.”

“Where will we go from here?”

Yamapi considers. “I don't know. I wish I did. I haven't plans, anymore. I'm just wandering.”

“Well, I'll wander with you.”

“Are you any good at fighting?”

“I've never done any.”

Yamapi laughs. “We'll make a right pair, then, won't we.”

 

And that's how Takauji finds them. The daylight is breaking between the hills, like a solid beam of light. The grounds are beautiful, the mountains illuminated, the sky a dim purple. The grass is very green, the world very fresh, a scent in the air of peace. If peace had a scent, this place would be it. Takauji cannot afford to think like this, of course, but he can't seem to help it. 

In the valley, the samurai stands, his back to the light. Before him, the other man, dressed in red and gold. This man wields a sword. His hands are shaking with the weight of it. As Takauji gets closer, he can see the samurai's lips moving, slowly and softly. There's instruction in his words. The other man lifts the sword, makes a diagonal movement. It's not solid, but it looks like he'll pick it up. He smiles with pride and pleasure. 

“Show me,” he says, Takauji lip-reads the slow words.

The samurai takes the sword, goes through the movements he's been taught his entire life. They are graceful, balletic – Takauji has to stop to watch, because he's never seen any soldier so effortless with the sword before. Warriors have become killers and lost the art of dance. This warrior has been taught by a dancer, it seems. The other man is similarly entranced, and he applauds loudly when the display is over. The samurai bows, somewhat comically, and then rises. He notes the change in the man's expression before Takauji does, and so when he turns, Takauji isn't ready for him. 

The samurai draws his sword, steps across the fields. Takauji dismounts, to show that he means no harm. It is a lie, but defense is Takauji's best strategy. The other man follows, though he has no weapon. The samurai has dark eyes, fierce and stubborn. Takauji is afraid. 

They stop within ten feet of each other, at a stalemate. Takauji has drawn his sword, too, and neither of them want to incite anything by pointing their weapons. The other man hangs behind, unsure. 

“What do you want?” The samurai asks. His voice demands, it doesn't plead. 

Takauji isn't sure. He knows what Ieyasu wants, but that isn't the same thing. “I have been sent to take the two of you into safe-keeping.”

“What is safe-keeping?” The samurai asks. “You are from the Eastern alliance.”

Takauji nods. “I am, but-”

“Then I will go nowhere with you, safe or otherwise. This is Toyotomi territory, and you know it well. Don't come here professing ignorance of that.”

Something stirs in Takauji's brain. Memories, perhaps, or visions. He's not sure which. In the air, he can smell salt. The mountains become a cave, solid, stone. The green fields are vines, twisting around. The sky is white, the air is white, everything white and colourless. Everything impossible to see through. An almighty decision. The captain of the ship, a heart – blood, a drawn line of blood, something, words, something-

He blinks, and it goes, just like that. It comes in waves, this gift, this curse. 

“I am not ignorant of it,” Takauji says. “But I come from Ieyasu himself, and I must fulfill his wishes.”

“We will not go quietly,” the samurai says. “I do not intend to follow any of Ieyasu's wishes. You must take us by force.”

“You are the important one,” Takauji says. “The brighter force. I must take you down first. You protect the weaker one. The heart.”

“What's he talking about?” the other man asks. “He's talking nonsense.”

The samurai scrutinizes Takauji. “I don't know,” he says. “I think he's talking of the past, and maybe the future. Are you able to see the future, boy?”

“I. I was able- you. You're in-”

“Danger, as always,” the samurai says. “Mostly from you, so your prediction is a little biased, if you don't mind me saying so.”

Takauji's eyes are cloudy with thought, with the smoky residue of dreams, of memories, or something. Of something. He doesn't know what to think or how to convey it, but somehow, he knows he must. Before it's too-

And the samurai draws his dagger, then, sensing the danger. The dagger. There's an edge of blood on it. An edge of magic. An edge of the other man. Red on the coat, red on the blade. Red, red, heart, blood. A cave. A stolen heart. The man called Ieyasu, his words on the map. He stole Jin's good, _good_ heart.

Takauji wants to be sick. Memories flood his brain. He can no longer stand, with the force of them, and he topples. 

“You didn't even touch him,” Jin says, admiringly. 

“He can see the future,” Yamapi says, finally putting aside his disbelief. He sits down, where Takauji lies, unconscious. “I think he's important. I think he's the next step.”

 

Takauji dreams a thousand dreams, and none of them make sense. He flies through sleep, his hands outstretched, trying to catch the one that will make sense in words. Trying to find the one that will put an end to this, this madness, this century-old madness. In his thousand dreams, Yoshinobu cannot reach him, and he feels an iota of peace.

 

When he wakes, the colour is gone from him. His skin is white, his face is white, his eyes are white. He opens his eyes and Yamapi and Jin see it, they start. Yamapi contains himself, Jin does not. Jin backs away, unable to understand. He stays a little way off. 

“Speak,” Yamapi says. 

“You will not believe it-” Takauji begins. 

“I will believe what you tell me,” Yamapi says. “I have worked alongside people with this gift. I believe in it.”

“Is your name Yamashita Tomohisa?”

“It is.”

“And his, Akanishi Jin?”

Yamapi turns to Jin. Jin is colourless, too, but he nods. He gets closer by the second, not wanting to miss out. He is deeply afraid, but his curiosity overwhelms him. 

“Your names are written through the ages.”

“What do you mean?” Yamapi asks. 

“You have lived before, and will again.”

“The ancient texts say that it happens,” Jin says, cautiously. “My father said it was because you died with regret. Wishing you'd lived a different life. Spirits return, incomplete, seeking to live the lives they didn't before.”

“I was taught not to believe in spirits,” Yamapi says. “How do you know that we have lived before?”

“I can see forwards and back,” Takauji says. “I can see your names throughout history.”

“Where do we begin, then?” Jin asks. “Are we spirits?”

“You are spirits,” Takauji says. “You lived three centuries ago, or so. That is when you begun. You will live again, for four more centuries. You will not be aware of it, except fleetingly. You will know things, you will see things, that make sense to your former selves, but not to you.”

“What...” Jin isn't sure he wants to ask. “What are our lives? What were our lives? What is to come?”

“You begun on the seas. That was your life. And then, you came to this. You lived in and out of life, fleetingly, before we came here. Here, you are stronger than you have been before. You will go on from here, if you do not succeed, and you will live again in four centuries time. You will work for Japan's Prime Minister. You will be pursued by a man named Ieyasu. You will witness a crime scene. You will live as men of the law, and you will bear judgement on that crime. You will entertain a nation with music. All of these lives, you will live.”

“If we do not succeed?” Yamapi asks. “Succeed at what?”

“Succeed at taking back the heart that was stolen from you.” Takauji says. “Ieyasu stole Jin's heart. When we lived at sea, the man called Ieyasu stole his heart.”

Jin fingers his chest. “I'm alive, aren't I?”

“You're a spirit. You became a spirit when he stole your heart. He is a spirit, too, but a stronger one – he has your heart. It makes him strong. It will allow him to live, and chase you through your lives. Unless you can take it back.”

“Ieyasu,” Yamapi says, slowly. “Ieyasu Tokugawa?”

“The man called Ieyasu has lived in all guises. He is currently Ieyasu Tokugawa. In his other lives, he is known as Ieyasu, too. But he is a pirate ghost. That is his true form. You were pirates, both of you, when he took the heart. You worked together on a ship. I worked alongside you, a navigator.”

“How do we know that this isn't a story, spun by Ieyasu himself?” Yamapi says. “You want to lead us to him, and by inciting us to kill him, your mission would be complete.”

“Because,” Takauji says. “To give you this information, I am giving my life. I feel it, now. This is peace. This is it. I worked alongside you, and I took back the weapon that was used to take Jin's heart. We left it by the door. By the entrance. I took it, and the man called Ieyasu, he pursued me for it. I loved somebody, then. And that man, he took the dagger from me, and he kept it. He kept it, for as long as I know, he kept it. Maybe he has lived again, too. I cannot see him. I cannot see him, at all.”

“You're too close,” Jin says, sitting on the ground. “You're too close to him to see him.”

“How do we succeed?” Yamapi says. “You cannot kill a ghost.”

“I don't know that,” Takauji says, his voice weakening. His hair is gone white, too. His fingernails, his clothes. “I do know that if you fail, in this moment, your lives will repeat themselves in different incantations until you do succeed, or until Jin dies. One of the two. You face two paths in this moment. One path will lead you to Ieyasu's destruction, and this will stop. You will become rooted in this life, and you will die in it. The other path will continue for centuries. You will live and meet in each, and confrontation with Ieyasu is inevitable. You will never remember it, and you will be doomed to repeat it. Until Jin dies.”

“What keeps us meeting one another? Why is Jin alive, still, if his heart is gone?”

“You meet each other because you were together when the heart was stolen. You worked together. And you loved him. You loved Jin. That's what kept Jin alive. You pierced his chest and the ghost took the heart, but you loved him enough to keep him with you. Through centuries, it seems. Without that love, he would have lost colour. As I am doing now.”

“I don't. I just, I don't-”

“You cannot believe,” Takauji says, his voice a whisper. “I understand that. I will-”

 

White light descends upon the three of them, a loud flash, a sudden jolt. And then, there is wood, a deck. Jin lies upon it, his chest heaving, his eyes leaking water. He is the definition of petrified. The ship, as it is a ship, is moving. Yamapi sits by his side, his hand in his hand, his other hand on Jin's chest. 

“Stay with us,” he is saying, the voice wet, the tears hitting Jin's neck. “Stay with us, stay with us, stay with me. It'll be alright. It'll be okay. Just stay with me. Stay with me. Don't die, Jin. Don't go anywhere. I'm here. I'm here. Stay with me.”

Jin's eyes are focused on Yamapi, and though it takes all of his energy, he nods, he clenches Yamapi's hand, and the colour comes back into his cheeks. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“Stay with me,” Yamapi says. “If you go, I'll have to follow you. I don't want to do that. I'm not ready to give up, yet. Are you ready to give up yet?”

Jin isn't ready to give up yet. “Stay with me,” he says. “Stay with me.”

 

“You did stay with him, in the end,” Takauji says, only he's Shige, walking across the deck. He's full of colour, in the vision. Full of fear, the dagger in his hand. Koyama stands beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Only he isn't wearing armour, isn't samurai – he's just a man. Just a man, with a hand on Shige's shoulder. 

“You stayed with him until you could avenge him,” Shige says. “He didn't go anywhere. You wouldn't let him. You said, 'stay with me', and so he did. You stayed together over centuries. And now, you face the chance to end this.”

“You have seen centuries,” Jin says, from the deck, his colour returning. “You have seen us years into the future?”

“Yes,” Shige says. 

“What did we do? Which path did we take? Do you see us hundreds of years in the future because we failed, or because it was a possibility that we did? Are these visions real, or just...versions of a reality that could have occurred? I need to know whether we succeeded, or-”

“I don't know that,” Shige says. “But I know that you must stick together to succeed. You must believe. You must stay with him, and you with him. That's the only way. The only way.”

And Koyama squeezes his shoulder, as if in agreement. 

 

When the light vanishes, the man called Takauji is dead. Yamapi cannot think straight. His mind is awash with images, with possibilities and things that feel like memories. His dreams. His dreams, that weren't dreams at all. Lake water, seawater, water, water, water.

Jin is crying, and that is water, too. And that, Yamapi realises, might be it. 

 

“He is dead,” Yoshinobu says. “Takauji is dead. He told them the secrets you desired to know.”

Ieyasu's face is cold, white, thunderous. “You lie to me.”

“I do not,” Yoshinobu says. “I have seen it. He had the gift, and he wasted it. They know. They know who you are. Who you are not. They are prepared.”

“You must tell me, what you heard-”

“I sat at your table, in that cave, when you took that heart all for yourself. You were meant to share it with me. Do you remember? You were meant to share it. I got none of it. You greedily took it all for yourself. I have lived this long because you asked me to stay with you, but gave me no means but my own tenacity to do it. I have lived enough. I have seen enough. You are on your own. I wish you luck, but I cannot say more.”

Ieyasu's face breaks, like a crack of lightening, like something that isn't human. His body flinches, as if fighting a supernatural force, and he becomes smoke. He vanishes, and Yoshinobu closes his eyes. He is free. He is, at last, free.

 

“How are we going to. Do you believe-”

“I believe,” Yamapi says. He's not sure why he does, because he's not known Jin long, but there's something. The image felt like a piece of the puzzle. It felt like a piece of something he'd left behind, at some point.

“I believe, too,” Jin says. He's not sure why he does, because Yamapi is new to him, but there's something. He's searched his whole life for something. Perhaps, all along, it was just his heart. 

“What are we going-”

“I don't know,” Yamapi says. “But you must trust me.”

 

The smoke unfurls between the hills. Yamapi and Jin stand, and their hands are joined. The smoke rises, into the shape of a person. And the pair of them close their eyes. 

 

_Have no care in what you take  
Treasure will not a heart remake_

_A spirit's heart you seek to break  
For this task, you seek that lake-_

_And once he's down, down on the ground  
You must take care with what is found_

_Nothing will a heart rebuild  
Except with words, a heart refilled._

 

The man called Ieyasu has eyes of fire. 

“Give me the dagger,” he says. And Yamapi knows, knows the weight of the dagger in his hand. Understands the life on it, the heart on it, the great, great weight on it.

“He won't,” Jin says, the life running through Yamapi's hand and into his own. “I won't.”

“You must give me the dagger,” Ieyasu says. He cannot bind the two. He cannot control them, not together. It makes him panic. It can be seen in his eyes. 

“We won't.”

“What will you do-”

They open their eyes, and that white hot image reaches across centuries. They are on a deck, and Jin is saying, 'stay with me', and Yamapi is agreeing, and the strength of it breaks years, travels across time, travels across space. The image curls into the brains of those who will live as them, as those who will live for centuries, planting seeds and memories and time and space, and _love_ , most of all. And the image travels, to the lake, and Jin wading through it, trapped underneath the ice-

And the ice shatters, and it falls down around, and when Jin rises, he's holding the dagger. And Ieyasu knows, then. He knows that it's lost. 

Yamapi's strength is what moves the image across time. Yamapi's strength and Jin's love, and their willingness to go the distance – and so the ice moves, the ice four hundred years away, the ice becomes water and it swallows the man called Ieyasu. It moves across the water and it swallows Ieyasu, and before he can struggle, before he can escape, it eats him up. The man grows cold, and vanishes within the water. The dagger grows cold. The earth grows cold. 

And when the image comes to a stop, the two of them are alone. There is no smoke. There is no dagger. There is nothing but this, and them. Jin lies on the ground. He turns his head to the sky, and the sky is black. The stars have disappeared. His chest is heaving, full of fright.

He looks to Yamapi, and his eyes are wet. 

“I can't get my heart back,” he says. “We went all the way to that cave, I lost my heart, and now it's gone, I can't get it back-”

And Yamapi turns to them. The ship moves beneath them, this is it, this is the life they've always lived. The life that slipped through the cracks and became other lives. All the regrets, the unspoken words, they became unspoken love affairs, lasting for centuries. But Yamapi only wants to live one life. He only wants one existence, one with Jin in it. He doesn't want to live for centuries. He doesn't want to always be wondering what's in the back of his mind. 

“It doesn't matter,” he tells Jin. “You can have mine, instead.”

 

There are rumours, about the two pirates, about where they go from there. Some say that they gave up piracy, lived in the town, made a life for themselves. Others say that they continued, and went to Korea after all, and China, beyond-

Others say that they just continued to sail, looking for adventures, rebuilding Jin's heart. 

What is known is that they lived, not for centuries, but for an acceptable amount of time. That Yamapi stayed with Jin, and Jin stayed with Yamapi, until it was time to say goodbye-

And there were no regrets. They lived the lives they wanted to live, together, and died without wanting more than they had done. Without wanting more than the path they chose. 

The other path closed up, covered with vines. They weren't there to see it, Yamapi and Jin. Had they looked down it, they would have seen a thousand lives: gangsters, rockstars, and lawyers, to name a few. Those were lives they might have lived, had they failed. As it was, they succeeded, and lived the one life they were born to live.


	6. The Sea For Green Fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written in 2008 and includes explicit sexual content and angst.

A year passes unevenly, enough time for them to enjoy each other but not enough to make them forget. Too much is happening around them for Yamapi and Jin to feel truly at ease, and in a way this peppers the sex and the eating and the joyous, joyous drinking with a kind of urgency, a kind of desperate need. In the middle of the night, in dark and dingy rooms, they feel a frantic desire to be so close to one another that nothing can come between them, ever again. Yamapi remembers saying that Jin could have his heart – in the middle of the night, it's like Jin tries to take it, but he can't, quite.

When he takes his shirt off, Yamapi sometimes looks at the circular scar on his chest. Sometimes. When he can. Most of the time, he doesn't, he pushes it to the back of his mind. So difficult to look at somebody you love and see the scars of your affection worn into their flesh. So difficult to look at Jin and see the path they could have chosen to take: the one that would have allowed Jin to remain whole. So difficult to see him and to know that everything could have been different. Yamapi feels guilty for feelings like these because Jin is alive, and that should be all that matters.

 

Their steps are uneasy as they saunter back, full of wine and music and hunger, nagging away in the background. The sterile fields are behind them and they don't think about the threat of famine, the few family and friends that they have left who may just be about to starve. Nobody thinks about that. They pray and they wring their hands and they beg for a solution. Yamapi and Jin do something different, something untouchable and strange, something only they truly understand. 

They push over the chair as they break into the room, and they don't bother lighting the lamps. That'd take too long, and there's not enough time for anything, not enough time to breathe – Yamapi's hair in Jin's hands and the two of them, pressed so hard that the wall is almost a part of them. Jin's always horny when he's drunk, Yamapi's noticed. Jin's horny most of the time, which works for Yamapi. He pushes against Yamapi, a knee between his thighs, and before Yamapi knows it his trousers are undone and he has to kick his boots off because Jin's trampling all over them trying to get closer and closer and closer.

Yamapi presses his palms into Jin's cheeks and he whispers something, lost against Jin's mouth to the faint tang of plum wine. Not proper stuff, the cheap stuff, the hard, sharp stuff. Jin likes the hard stuff. Jin likes the hard side of life: he's got his hand around Yamapi's cock and he's stroking, even though there's no slide, just friction, and it hurts until it feels good. Yamapi waits for that, kissing and kissing until the ache goes away, and then he closes his eyes and mutters, 'yes'.

 

They end up on the bed in a tumble, somebody took a step without warning. The bed is strewn with paper and maps and the remainder of an apple, but neither of them care. Jin pushes at the piles of it as Yamapi yanks his trousers off, the boots too, the shirt Jin manages himself. Yamapi can barely see him in the dark, can't see the mark on his chest, and he's glad for it because one of these days he'll say what he always wants to say when he catches sight of it-

“I want-” Jin says, drawing Yamapi closer to him, between his legs so that Yamapi leans down over him. And without knowing or understanding why, it's just not right, just not quite right, not until Yamapi turns Jin over. The height of the bed is enough, the line of Jin's hips is enough, and Yamapi uses whatever he can find in the drawer by the bed and doesn't ask Jin if it's alright, first. He listens until Jin makes a submissive sound in his throat, and then he knows for sure.

When he fucks him, it happens slowly, a bit strange. Not the way it usually happens. Yamapi leans over Jin and holds his wrists flat to the bed, his chest against Jin's back, his mouth at the back of Jin's neck. Jin extends his chin and makes little sounds, his throat dented, the sounds jarred and alien. He's saying Yamapi's name but it comes out differently, like he's a different person, and Yamapi's not sure how he feels about that, but he doesn't stop. He can't see the scar, and that's all that seems to matter in his mind. 

Somehow, it's as if the pleasure of it isn't connecting. As if he feels it, a dull ache in his groin, rather than something attached to him, rather than something he governs and controls. Jin makes noises that suggest he feels differently, but Yamapi just feels detached. Unsure, no longer drunk, no longer anything – his head full of clouds and empty spaces. He doesn't make a sound. In his head, he makes noises of pleasure, he asks for more, he takes and he needs and he fucks, hard and fast and desperate as always, but in the cold, dark room he says nothing. Jin dictates the pace, pushing back harder than Yamapi pushes forwards. After a while, Yamapi realises that he's doing it for the friction the bedsheets afford, tilting his hips downwards, chasing a solitary pleasure.

Jin says Yamapi's name when he comes, obviously. Yamapi doesn't remember coming: it's as if it happens to somebody else, somewhere else, in a different time or world. When he pulls out, he has no idea whether he's done, or not. He's limp, and that's all he knows.

 

Much later on, Jin eats the remainder of his apple (can't be too fussy these days, he says) and studies Yamapi, who lies on the bed and thinks. The lamps are on but they don't provide much insight. 

“What's wrong,” Jin says, half munching. He's swinging back on the chair, his foot resting on the bed frame. Yamapi doesn't look at him, just narrows his eyes, as if he's heard something a long way away. Eventually:

“I feel unsettled,” he says. “Things aren't right.”

“Mmn,” Jin says. “We're all probably going to starve to death. How much treasure do you have left from the cave? You could send your sister some more, but-”

“There's not a lot of point,” Yamapi says. “No point sending her anything to trade when there's nothing to trade for. We're running out of food. The whole country is running out of food. The ships that are looting are being overrun a few miles out to sea. What are we going to do?”

Jin thinks about this. “I don't know,” he says. “Sail your family to Korea and stay there? We could hide out undercover. That'd be exciting.”

“It's not a game, Jin.”

“I know it isn't,” Jin says. “But we can't control everything. It'll be alright. I feel it.”

“I just feel uneasy,” Yamapi says. “Whose instincts do you want me to trust?”

“Mine, obviously,” Jin says. “Have I ever been wrong before?”

They look at each other in the dark, and Yamapi blows out the lamp next to him. Nobody says anything more, but there's a weight of silence over the both of them when they lie down to sleep. The noise of the town echoes in the room, the lights play on the ceiling. Jin can hear people drinking and laughing, long after Yamapi falls asleep. A lot of people chase the worries of the country away with a long drink or a long fuck, but neither of them seem to do Yamapi any good. He's chasing his own worries round and round. Sometimes, Jin worries that he won't ever stop.

 

Yamapi wakes up before Jin the next morning, and he writes a letter in the morning sunlight. The spring air is crisp and it makes him feel alive in a way he hasn't, for some time. Maybe Jin is right. Maybe things will all work out. He seals the letter with a ring, a little token, maybe his sister will find somebody to strike up a bargain with-

“Ngh,” Jin says. “What time is it.”

“Early,” Yamapi says. He doesn't turn around, but he can hear Jin fumbling around on the bedside table. He's looking for something to drink: probably not caring whether it's alcohol or something else. There's a sound of something clinking as it falls down, and Jin grabs it hopefully. 

“Don't drink too much wine,” Yamapi says. “It's not even seven, I don't think. We've got things to do today. I don't want you drunk.”

“I won't get drunk,” Jin says, indignant. “I just want a bit of- oh, for fuck's sake, did you cork the wine up again? I hate it when you do that.”

Then, Yamapi turns around. Whether it's something in the way Jin says it, or something in the back of his mind, he doesn't know. There's just _something_. And when he does, he's glad that he did, because what Jin's tilting to his lips isn't alcohol. It's a bottle, like the one they carried back from the inn the night before, but it isn't plum wine. Scanning the room, Yamapi can't see the wine bottle anywhere. All there is is this new bottle, this strange and foreign object.

“Jin,” Yamapi says, and Jin's eyes meet his. His teeth are wrapped around the cork, trying to pull it out, and that makes Yamapi wince because Jin's teeth aren't in that sort of condition-

And then Jin's eyes move downwards and he lets go, startled.

“Where did it come from?” he says, turning it about in his hands. His eyes are wide, childish and intrigued. Yamapi finds himself looking at Jin's eyes, more than the bottle. He has to drag his gaze away. 

“I don't know,” he says, turning slowly in the chair. It's wobbly, Jin must have broken it swinging on it. “You didn't steal it from the inn, did you? I've told you about that.”

“No,” Jin says, truthfully. “I've never seen it before.”

Yamapi stands, then, crosses the room and sits by Jin, on the bed. He almost doesn't want to take it from him. It's as if it has life in Jin's hand. A smallish bottle, thick glass wrapped around a large, bright green stone. There's no logic to it: the stone is too big to fit into the bottle, and yet it does, and it is. When Jin turns the bottle over, it doesn't move. It catches the light, but remains solid and unmoving. The cork will not come loose. Yamapi hasn't seen anything like it in his entire life.

“I'm going to take it with us,” Jin says. “I think it's important.”

“You always think that,” Yamapi says. “Still. It's worth checking out.” 

“We don't have to visit-”

“Yes, we do. If you want to find out what that thing is, we have to go.”

“Fuck,” Jin says. “Better get dressed. Pity there's no food. I hate facing Jun on an empty stomach.”

 

They leave early, Jin dragging behind, complaining about combination of no breakfast and a steep hill. In truth, the fresh air does Yamapi good. They don't get enough of it: the weather has been cold and rainy for so long over the winter. The sunshine is just what he needs. He waits for Jin halfway up: watching him climb and grumble, full of life and irritating qualities. He looks different. He's grown up, a bit. He wears black trousers and shirt, a scrap of their old flag wrapped around his waist. It's worn to the shape of his hips, comfortable, faded. They have a new one: a new ship, too, mostly. Yamapi and Jin worked on it over the winter.

There's a black bandanna on his head and in the morning sun, it makes him hot. Yamapi doesn't and has never worn one: he has a thing for hats, particularly, but he doesn't have one of those either. He and Shige both liked their hats. He wonders where Shige is now: whether he returned to his father, or not. He'll make a note to ask Jin: Jin often knows the comings and goings of people in the town. He takes an interest, where Yamapi has none.

Most soothsayers have the consideration to work inside town, or just outside it. Some of them work in great and disturbing rooms, filled with treasures and animals and the smell of spirituality. Jun has always maintained that this is all show: that all that is really needed to tell the future or delve into the past is a set of stones and an open mind. Jin thinks that Jun doesn't want a pretty room because it'd detract from him, which Yamapi reckons is probably accurate.

Where his surroundings are open and sparse, Jun is not. Jun is decked out in so much finery that he clinks whenever he moves. He wears dark green silk trousers and expensive, beautiful black Chinese slippers. His overcoat is black and quilted, tied with a green silk sash. It is wider at the wrists, for effect. When he tosses the stones, you can see the lining of his coat, expensive, colourful. Around his neck are strands and strands of beads, feathers, stones and trinkets: a mad life on strings. His hair is full of wild black curls, and amongst them he wears a thick band of green stones. Other ornaments, too, but it's the band that stands out. Jin hates Jun with a fiery passion, but he has to admit that Jun is the best. 

Jun works on the hill that overlooks the town. It's high up, it's difficult to get to, but it's clear. Up there, the sun is bright and the air is clean, and there's a view of everything. Jun is sitting at the edge of the drop, writing with an obscenely large black-feathered pen, when Yamapi and Jin approach him. There's a young boy, probably a prodigy, in front of him. He's sitting in a curled ball so that Jun can rest his paper against his back as he writes. Jin sends Yamapi a look, and Yamapi shrugs. 

“Knock,” Jun says, simply. He doesn't look at them. 

Jin rolls his eyes. “On what _door_?”

“You'll work it out if you want my help, whatever idiotic mess you've found yourselves in this time.”

The prodigy dares to look at the two of them, and Jun raps his shoulder with the hard side of his pen. Yamapi looks around, and Jin looks at the bottle hanging from his belt. He wears a gold one, with solid loops, and when he couldn't get the stone out of the bottle, he hung the bottle there instead. It's heavy, but he wants to keep it safe. 

“Ah,” Yamapi says, suddenly, going some way off and retrieving a small rock. 

“Excellent,” Jin says, under his breath. “I'll take the first shot.”

“Jin,” Yamapi warns, and lightly tosses the stone. It lands a little way away from Jun with a quiet thudding sound. 

“Yes?” Jun says. “Come in. What do you want?”

“Dismiss the boy,” Jin says. The boy turns around, the Jun is forced to stop writing. He sighs, looking Jin full in the face. His eyes are smudged with powder: blue, parrot-blue, strange. 

“What for?” he says. “You can't be-”

Jin reaches into the pocket of his trousers and retrieves a little piece of treasure. It's a small dagger, gilded and old, but with four blue stones on the hilt. One of Jun's favourite colours. 

“Dismiss the boy, and we'll give you this.”

Jun studies it with narrowed eyes.

“Boy,” he says, eventually. “Go into town. Go to the shop where they sell the shipwrecked items. Find me a new compass: a good one. Come back in precisely one hour.”

Yamapi watches the boy scurry off and wonders whether he has that sort of power. 

“You'll need a new one,” Jun says, by way of explanation. “Where you're going. You'll need a new compass. That's not all you'll need, of course, but the compass is the key.”

“What do you mean,” Yamapi asks. “Where we're going? We haven't even told you-”

“The bottle,” Jun says. “On your little dog's belt. That's why you've come, isn't it? Only you don't know what it is, or the power it holds. I heard you walking up the hill because you had that belt on you. It's a monstrously powerful object, and it's ironic that of all the pirates in the world it should end up with Akanishi Jin.”

“I swear, I'm going to-”

“Jin,” Yamapi says, nudging past him. He sits, someway off, so that he and Jun are on eye level. “Sit down,” he says, tugging on Jin's trouser-leg. Jin does so, reluctantly, removing the bottle from his belt. 

“What is it?” he says, grudgingly. “I've never seen anything like it.”

“It's the first step,” Jun says. “Towards great power.”

“Alright,” Yamapi says. “So there's others just like it? On its own, it isn't important, but-”

“On its own, it isn't complete, no. Still, the power that it holds: you'd be wise not to spend too much time with it hanging from you like that. There are others just like it, according to legend. Four others, to be exact. Four bottles, four stones. Four other colours.”

“What do we do with them?” Jin says. “I'm assuming that we don't put them on the mantelpiece.”

Jun snorts. “According to stories, the aristocrat who they first belonged to did just that. He didn't understand their power, only their beauty. When he fell from political favour, he sold everything that he felt was valuable, except the five bottles. In the end, it's rumored that they were looted by pirates. Nobody knows, exactly. All that is known is that four of them ended up lost at sea, whilst one remained on land.”

“Why did one remain on land if they were stolen by pirates?” Yamapi asks. “That makes no sense. Surely any pirates taking them for their value wouldn't leave one behind.”

Jun shrugs. “It's said that the captain left one as a parting gift with his sweetheart of the day. I think it's a bad idea, leaving a present so fine with a woman, of all people, but pirates rarely mix well with love, do they, Jin?”

Jin looks at his boots, then, imagining scrubbing Jun's face off his head. 

“He left the bottle with the green stone to her. I'm sure it matched her eyes, or her dress, or something trivial that he desired in her. After that, nothing else is known. The bottles ended up in the sea: either through shipwreck, or through misuse of their power, and nobody has seen any of them since then. Pirates have searched the seas for these,” he adds, reaching out a hand towards the bottle in Jin's grasp. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

“What are they used for?” Jin asks, turning the bottle over in his hands. “What power do they have that would make a crew throw them overboard?”

“Hm,” Jun says. He looks at the grass before him and turns over his stones, tending to each one slowly. There's a very long silence before he continues. 

“I have had many people here, asking about these treasures. Most of them beg, because of the current climate, because of the lack of food. Many of them are angry and unable to accept the extent of my wisdom. I can see the future and the past, I can see past the stars: but I am not a tracking device. I cannot find that which is lost. I cannot see the location of a mislaid object. I see visions, not directions. I am not a compass.”

“I understand that,” Yamapi says. “You have led me to many places I have wanted to go, in the past, but not directly. I understand that this is the way it works.”

“I find it difficult to work with him, not with you,” Jun says, scathingly.

Jin is looking at Yamapi, a wry and skeptical look on his face. Yamapi swats him, and he does his best to remove it. 

“So,” Jun continues. “You will understand that once I tell you what these bottles do, I cannot lead you to them, no matter how much you plead. All I can do is inform you of their power. With most, I don't even do this.”

“I understand,” Yamapi says.

“The bottles are magical. I'm assuming that you see that: the stone too large to have been slipped inside, too light to weigh the bottle down. The cork will not be removed, no matter how you approach it. There is magic in the construction of it. All the bottles are the same. The stone must be removed, but it can only be done a certain way.”

“Which is?”

“All the bottles must be collected from the seas. You must form a crew of no more than five men-”

“Five?” Jin interrupts. “Do you have any idea-”

“I do not work with your grubby practical matters,” Jun says, coldly. “I only tell you what needs to be done. Kindly shut up and listen to me. All five men must be trustworthy to the core. All five must be loyal, wise – no man must have a traitorous soul. You must keep them well and content, because each stone can only be removed with a bargain made by each crew member. To retrieve the stone, each man must exchange a portion of his soul. It is a bonding made between he and the ship, he and the captain. Each man must feel that bond to his very depths. It must be true.”

Jin looks at the bottle, fascinated. “Will it kill them?”

“No,” Jun says. “It won't. But a portion of your soul should not be given away lightly. You must trust the men you take with you. Once all the bottles have been collected and all the souls exchanged, you will have five stones. Put together, they are of enormous importance. Your reward will be great.”

“What is the reward?” Yamapi asks. 

Jun gathers his stones together, closing his eyes. “If you go where you are directed, you will find a place full of ice, where nothing grows but something grows. You will find locked deep below, the answer to what you have prayed for. You will find that which will fill the fields whether the other crops grow or wilt. You will find food for a lifetime, for five lifetimes, or ten. You will find the means to keep your family alive. Famines will not touch you. You will not find gold, or silver, a treasure chest of coins – you will find only a small shoot. But this shoot will feed you, until the day you die. It will feed your children, and their children. You will find what you seek beneath the ice and through the water.”

“In exchange for a piece of every man's soul,” Jin says. “We all get to live.”

“Yes,” Jun says. “I cannot tell you more than that. I cannot tell you how it will all come about. That is too hazy. I can only tell you that the bottles are in the ocean, and they will find you as this has done.”

“Can you tell us whether we will succeed?”

“No,” Jun replies. “I cannot tell you whether you will survive. If you recruit a traitorous man, if you exchange a traitorous soul, then I cannot speak of the wrath you will invite upon yourselves. Choose wisely, is all I can tell you. Greater men have come before me, asking of these secrets, and I have turned them away because of their weak crews.”

“You believe that our crew is stronger?” Yamapi asks, surprised. Jun doesn't tend to take notice of the trappings of the pirate world. He resides within it because it brings him prosperity (pirates are a suspicious and a spiritual bunch), but it's well-known that he hates the lot of them. 

“Not in the least,” Jun says. “I just find myself indifferent to your survival. I've always loathed you, Jin. And Yamapi – you could have been a better man, if not for this. I feel wasted potential when I look at you. If you both were to fail and come to an untimely end, I wouldn't feel that the world had lost a great treasure.”

“Just give him the dagger,” Yamapi says, his face taut and blank. “We'll go.”

“You can't tell us anything else?” Jin asks, handing over the small object with a look of revulsion as his fingers brush Jun's. 

Jun shakes his head, clearing the stones in front of him. “Ah – only that when you recruit, you will have a choice between two men. Two of your crew will come clearly to you. One will not. You will have a choice when picking your third crew member. One choice will be desperately wrong. The other, perfectly safe. I cannot tell you which is which.”

“Of course,” Jin says. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure,” Jun says, stroking the little dagger with his hand. “The man you took this from resides in the spirit world,” he says. “A small cave. He's in the water that drips between rock pools, inside a small cave. Seething water. How interesting.”

“He will never come back,” Yamapi says. “We made sure of that.”

“No,” Jun says, turning the dagger over in his hand. “But be careful on the sea. Water can get everywhere, after all. The sea may no longer feel like being kind to you.”

 

They descend the hill, not speaking. The bottle moves against Jin's leg and when they pass by Jun's prodigy and the boy presses a compass into Yamapi's hand, Yamapi turns to Jin. 

“Do you trust what he said?”

“Yes,” Jin says. “There's no point in not, really. I think that he hates me and that he'd be glad to see me wiped off the face of the earth, but his gift is...true. I believe what he says is true.”

“You think we should do this.”

“You're the captain. What do you think we should do?”

Yamapi sighs, looks out at the sea and the ships that wobble with all their might. “I want to do it. I need to do it, for my family. It may be the only chance we have. I just. You've been through so much, and-”

“And I'm still here,” Jin says. “I'm still here. It'll be alright. You have to learn to trust in me again. And yourself.”

“You're prepared to do this.”

“I'm prepared to do this. This thing came to me. I can't ignore that. You know that I can't ignore it.”

“Okay,” Yamapi says, nodding. “Put the word out that we're recruiting. I need to write to Shige. I think we need Shige.”

“He's in town,” Jin says. “Why write to him? He's right here.”

 

Jin puts the word out, and Yamapi packs up everything that he thinks they might possibly need, transferring it all from their room to the ship. He checks everything a thousand times: every little hole that used to be, every weak piece of deck that used to be. The ship is strong and clean and new, a new flag flies above his head. They're ready. Despite himself, he's nervous. 

Jin arranges the men who are keen to sail: twice as many candidates as the last time they recruited. Yamapi and Jin are known, now. Jin is known as the pirate who lost his heart, but survived. It's one hell of a persuasive device. Yamapi walks down the line and smiles when he sees Shige there. Shige has grown up, taller and a little less naïve.

“Shige,” he says. “It goes without saying, doesn't it? You're one of us.”

“Thank you, captain,” Shige says. “It's been too long.”

“Do you think that you can help us go where we need to go?”

“As long as the map stays on the page this time, captain.”

Yamapi laughs, despite himself. “You understand the risks?”

“I do, as always,” Shige says. “Could I ask something in return? Keiichiro and I have been...well. We've been spending time together, and I'd appreciate it if you could take him. I understand that it's a limited crew, but – I trust him. He is trustworthy.”

Yamapi looks at Koyama, remembering his face distantly from the past. Koyama was a good man, a good pirate: solid as an ox and hard-working to boot. A good person to have around a ship. 

“You would lay your life on that statement?” Yamapi asks, nonetheless.

“And yours,” Shige says. 

“Then it's decided,” Yamapi says. “Both of you can stand aside.”

Jin looks at Yamapi, and nods. Together, they walk, analyzing the row of men. 

“One more place,” Jin says. “Does anybody stand out to you?”

“Not yet,” Yamapi says. Many of the men are immediately discounted: too old or young, too frail, too drunk. One of them can barely stand up. Another looks disinterested, clinking coins in his pocket. They get to the end of the line and the two men there look promising, at last. One of them is short but stout, solid, he looks eager and as if he could haul a boat around with his bare hands. His eyes are bright and his back is straight. He reminds Yamapi of Shige, when Shige was much younger.

“What's your name?” Yamapi says. 

“Tegoshi Yuya,” the man says. “I would be honoured to be considered, captain. I've heard great tales about your voyages. I have a little experience myself, I have worked for a brilliant captain, and I will do your will, whatever that may be.”

“I see,” Yamapi says, exchanging a look with Jin. 

The next man is tall, rough. He has facial hair and eyes so dark and so focused that it's almost difficult to hold his gaze. When Yamapi stands before him, he looks hard into his face, and there's a silent desperation that passes between them. He has strong arms and a strong head, but his heart is aching. Yamapi understands that.

“Your name?” he says. 

“Nishikido Ryo,” the man says. “I have never sailed before, I'll be honest. But I am strong, and loyal, and I do not value my life enough to withhold it from you, should it come to it.”

“If you don't value your life at all, perhaps you will end it prematurely,” Yamapi replies. “I need five men, alive, when we arrive at our destination. Huge fortitude is required. You are weak.”

“If what is required is that I remain alive and that I give myself over to this ship and this voyage, be assured that I can do it. I will do it. What I meant is that there is no place for individual concerns. I do not value myself above all others. I will lay my life down for all of you.”

“Have we met before?” Yamapi says, suddenly. “There's something-”

“No,” the man says. “I have heard of your legend, but we have never met.”

 

Yamapi turns to Jin and they move a little way off to deliberate. 

“I don't like Nishikido,” he says, simply. “I think Tegoshi is the better choice.”

Jin is looking between the two men, chewing his lip. “It's your call. I don't agree, but it's your call.”

Yamapi frowns. “Surely you can see that Nishikido is a loose cannon, at best? I don't trust him an inch.”

“Jun said that we had a choice, didn't he? That one man would be wrong, the other right.”

“Honestly,” Yamapi says. “I don't see this as a choice. Nishikido is clearly not right for this crew. The choice is simple. Out of all these men, Tegoshi is the one that stands out. There's not a man to touch him in this line-up.”

“I just...I just feel-” Jin says, and sighs. “It's an instinct. I haven't any reason for feeling the way I do. I just feel that Tegoshi is wrong. I feel that Nishikido is the right one.”

“Enough to rest our lives on it?” Yamapi says, exasperated. “Jin, this is-”

“I know that it's serious,” Jin says, suddenly aflame. “Don't you think that I know that? I may not have family to rescue, I may not have interests the way you do, but if you think that I'm not taking this seriously—Yamapi, I just feel that this is the way it is. It's only my instinct. It's only my gut feeling. I am no match for reason, I am no match for logic. But if you value me, and if you value my heart, please pick Nishikido. I wouldn't beg if I wasn't certain.”

Yamapi looks at Jin. It would go against every bone in his body to pick Nishikido, and the last time Jin decided on a course of action, it took away his heart. He let Jin follow his instincts and it nearly killed him. Jin's instincts are a dangerous and a wavy thing, like the sea. It's hard to trust that. To lay any kind of faith in something so unstable. But it's Jin. It's Jin's eyes and Jin's heart, and Yamapi doesn't know that it's right, but he knows that Jin thinks it is. He closes his eyes and turns around, facing the group of men. 

“We have come to our decision,” he says, slowly. “Nishikido, you will need to learn the ropes. Jin and Keiichiro will help you. You must be ready. I want to leave in 24 hours. Understand what you are taking on. What you are all taking on. And be _ready_.”

Nishikido nods as he walks to join Shige and Koyama. “I already am,” he says. “Captain.”

“Do not let me down. You are not here on my good faith – it must be earned.”

“I understand,” Nishikido says. “Thank you.”

Yamapi turns back to Jin, who looks at him with a look on his face that harks him back to more innocent days. 

“Thank you,” Jin says, and it's just—everything.

“I hope that you're right,” Yamapi says. “I just hope that. Get them all ready. I need to sleep.”

 

They sail out the next day. Jin puts everybody to work in the best way that he can, having spent most of the night working out a way to spread five people across a ship. The moment they're on the water, Yamapi seems to visibly relax, a year's worth of worry leaving his shoulders like dust. Jin smiles, stands by him and the wheel.

“So what do we do,” he says. “Wait for them to come to us?”

“Yes,” Yamapi says. “And hope they do it quick. One advantage of a small crew is that there's more food for us all, but it won't last. I hope that Jun was right.”

“Jun's rarely wrong,” Jin says. “It's irritating.”

“How is Nishikido doing?”

“Fine,” Jin says. “He doesn't say much, but he'll work hard. He's very strong. He and Koyama are holding up. Shige's helping them, until it becomes more obvious what we're supposed to be doing. It won't be exactly as it should be, but I'll keep them in line.”

“The green bottle is yours, isn't it?” Yamapi says, suddenly. “It chose you.”

“I think so,” Jin says. “I tried to— last night, I tried. I couldn't do it. Perhaps it has to be done at sea, or maybe they all have to be done at once. I don't know. I'll keep trying.”

Yamapi looks at the bottle hanging on Jin's belt, and nods. 

“Come to my cabin tonight.”

 

The sea is calm as they drink, the two of them. There's drinking, and kissing, and everything is starting to shift back into place. This is the world they know, the world that's them, and Yamapi feels more right than he has in a lifetime. He sits at his desk, Jin in his lap, they're drinking from the same bottle and kissing from the same mouth. 

His hand is in Jin's pants, which is kind of unfortunate, because in the dead of night and entirely unannounced, Shige bursts into the cabin. 

There's an awful moment where everybody freezes, and with little dignity, Jin climbs out of the chair and turns away from Shige to put himself back together. 

“I'm sorry,” Shige is saying, over and over. “I'm sorry, I. Oh, God, I. Um.”

“Spit it out,” Yamapi says. In a way he's quietly amused, but he imagines that Jin is furious. “What's the interruption for?”

“We've stopped, you see, because, well. You need to see this. I've never seen anything like it.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Yamapi says, rising. “Are you done?” he asks Jin, and Jin nods, red-faced and cross, and follows him out. 

Yamapi catches Shige as he follows him, pulls him back and mutters in his ear:

“If you tell anybody about this, I'll-”

“I won't,” Shige squirms. “I swear on my mother's life.”

When they reach the deck, Yamapi can't see what they're looking for. Everything seems normal: the sky is black, the stars are out, no land in sight. The air is cold, there's a little frost on the mast. Normal conditions for February. 

“What is it?” Yamapi says.

“Over the side,” Ryo says. “You'll see it.”

Yamapi strides over to Ryo and leans over the side of the ship. He inhales sharply, which makes Jin follow on without instruction. The two of them lean over and look down, and Shige is right, nobody has seen anything quite like this before. Where there was sea, now there is only a sheet of ice all around them. You could walk to the end of the world. The ship cannot move. Like the stones in the bottles, it is suspended in animation. 

“Did you do this?” Yamapi says, to Ryo. His eyes are narrowed. “I don't know you, I don't know your kind of magic-”

“No,” Ryo says. “I didn't. I couldn't. Shige and Keiichiro have been here the whole time, and-”

Yamapi studies the other two, and nods. “It must be to do with the bottles,” he says. 

Jin is still leaning over the side, peering down at the ice below. “I can see something,” he says. “Somebody throw me a rope.”

“Jin-” Yamapi begins. “I don't think. We don't know what's down there, or how thick the ice is-”

“We won't find out unless we try, and I'm freezing.” Jin reasons. “Let me go down. I'll go on a rope. It'll be safe.”

He waits for Yamapi to nod, and Yamapi waits for the rope before he does. After inspecting it, he reluctantly agrees.

“If I tell you to come back up, you come back up.”

Slowly, Ryo, Shige and Koyama lower the rope down the side of the ship. It takes time, and effort, and Yamapi leans over the side, watching to make sure nothing goes wrong. When Jin reaches the bottom, he tentatively touches a boot down, but nothing happens. 

“It's thick ice,” he calls up. “Definitely magical. Ice this thick takes too long to form.”

“Okay,” Yamapi replies. “Have you found something?”

Jin bends down, the rope loose in his palm. Lying next to the ship is another bottle, exactly the same as the first one, only the stone is a dark colour. 

“I've got a bottle,” he says, and there's a murmur of excitement from the crew. 

“Haul him up,” Yamapi says, and he's smiling. Jin wraps his fingers around the bottle and lifts it, and the moment he does the ice vanishes. It happens so fast that Jin's boots get wet, he sinks a little before they pull him out, and his face is a picture of astonishment as he climbs over the side and lands on the deck. By the time he's hauled himself onto his feet, the ice is gone. 

“Fuck,” he says, looking over. “So. Who wants it?”

“How do we decide?” Koyama says, studying the bottle in the moonlight. It's a deep purple shade, rich and somehow frightening. The bottle itself is ice cold in Jin's hand. 

“I think it just...comes to you,” Jin says. “I found the green one in our room. Leave it on the deck. Wherever it ends up, I think...that's where it was meant to be.”

“Good plan,” Yamapi says. “Make sure you're all sleeping separately. I don't want any confusion. We have to do this right.”

If he'd been concentrating, Yamapi would have seen the look that passed between Shige and Koyama, but he isn't, and he doesn't. The only person who does see it is Ryo.

 

The next morning, Koyama wakes up alone. It's the first time in ages, and he feels restless. He turns over in the hammock and his head comes into contact with something hard. The bottle lies beside his ear. It's still cold, and he shivers as he takes it. 

He comes out onto the deck and finds Shige, as soon as he can. When he tells him what he knows, Shige insists that he has to do what's been asked of them. He thinks it'll be the best way of leading them to wherever it is they're supposed to go. With Shige's confidence in mind, Koyama screws up his courage.

By nightfall, he recognises that just concentrating on the bottle isn't going to do it. There's a certain state that needs to be achieved inside, and Koyama doesn't seem to have the calmness to master it. He's considered asking help of the captain or the First Mate, but he doesn't want to appear weak. He has yet to make a solid impression of usefulness on either of them, he's not like Shige with his maps and charts. Koyama wants to be something more than he is, and he'll try and try until he gets it right.

After everybody has gone to sleep, Koyama sits on the deck with the bottle at his feet. Shige is the last to go, and in the moonlight, silent and beautiful, he kisses him. It's pure and trustworthy and good, like North on a compass, and when Shige leaves Koyama feels still. It takes a little while. He closes his eyes and tries to block the sounds out. The sea is so loud, the creaking of the ship, even the stars seem to be shrieking—but he blocks it out as best as he can. Slowly, he finds that he's feeling the sounds rather than hearing them. Blood races through his body like waves, his bones creak and shake. Something inside him is calling.

He takes the bottle in his hands, feeling for it in the dark. He grasps the bottle with both hands and he holds it above his head a little way. It's as though water is slopping down onto his head, bitter and cold and hard to the core, as if he's freezing solid from the inside out. It makes his mouth open, it makes him shake from head to foot, but he doesn't stop. Eventually, it will pass. The feeling with pass. The water comes down, down, down, until his head hurts with the pressure of it, and then it stops—

When he opens his eyes, he's not wet at all. Everything is as it was. The bottle is on the deck at his feet, but it is empty. The stone lies beside it, blinking in the dim moonlight.

 

The pattern repeats itself at a rate of once a day. The next day, the same cold frost breaks into the air and Yamapi turns expectantly at the wheel. Jin comes up to him to get a closer look, and the purple stone glimmers within a loop on his belt. Beside it, the green bottle hangs. He's had no luck with it yet, despite Koyama's instructions.

Shige wants to go down onto the ice, and Yamapi is relieved that it's no longer Jin's turn. He approves it, and Shige slides down, laughter on his lips. The ice holds his weight and he reaches down to grab the bottle. Only it doesn't move, as if it's frozen solid to the ice sheet. No matter how much he wriggles it, it won't shift. They have to haul him up and have a think. 

Eventually, Jin goes down to take a look. They're not watching closely enough, deliberating still over what to do – and when Jin touches the bottle it comes away easily. The ice vanishes, same as before, and Jin goes into the water before anybody realises. They haul him out like a sodden cat, furious and freezing. 

“Fuck,” he says, chucking the bottle down. “Some rope-holders you guys are.”

Yamapi chuckles, relief evident on his face, and chucks a blanket over Jin. “Next time, I'll go in,” he says. 

“I don't think it'll let you,” Ryo interjects. “It released itself when Jin went down there. Maybe it's because he's wearing the other stones.”

“Maybe,” Jin says, collapsing onto the deck and grabbing the bottle in his hand. It's a very dark blue colour. 

“I wonder who this one belongs to.”

 

Shige finds it even easier, to remove the stone from his bottle. He allows Koyama to watch, because Koyama can't understand how he could have been wet one minute and dry the next. They sit in the crow's nest, squashed in, the dead of night above them. Shige closes his eyes for a long time, and his breathing slows down. Koyama looks around him at the twinkle of stars in the sky, listening to Shige's breath, and he hopes that morning doesn't come. He'd sit here forever, he thinks. 

Shige doesn't lift the bottle into the air like Koyama did. Instead, he grabs Koyama's hands, so suddenly it's as if he's possessed. His eyes don't open and his breathing doesn't increase. Only his hands hold on, and then he begins to tremble. Nothing happens outwardly, but he trembles and he trembles and the bottle shakes between them. It's frightening and Koyama wants to stop it, but he knows that he shouldn't, so he just sits, watching, shaking too. 

Eventually, the bottle falls and Shige gasps and opens his eyes. 

“Did you see water?” he says, all a rush. Koyama shakes his head. He realises then that there's water in his eyes, so maybe his answer isn't quite true. 

Between them, the bottle is fallen and the blue stone lies unattended.

 

And so the pattern continues. Ryo is right: the bottles will not release themselves for anybody but Jin, who gets adept at dodging the water. The rest concentrate on pulling him out, and the red bottle comes onto the deck without so much as a splash. It's satisfying to Yamapi, and he gives them a slightly better meal that evening. They all feel that they're getting closer to their goal. Only one more remains. 

They drink and eat with the crew that night. Jin and Yamapi next to each other, Koyama and Shige on the other side. Ryo sits alone at the head of the table. 

“Where did you grow up?” Shige asks. 

“In town,” Ryo says. “My father restores weaponry. A lot of old swords and daggers aren't what they used to be and, well, sometimes rich families want to bury their relatives with them. And they want them to be clean, new again. It's hard work.”

“You don't make new weapons?”

“No. I help my father restore old ones. I think it's more interesting. Blades carry spirits on them, if you ask me. You can feel their history when you hold them. The blood of thousands of enemies-”

Yamapi is looking at him strangely, so he stops in his tracks. His face is red. Jin looks up and at Shige, and for a while an awkward silence persists. 

“My father is a navigator,” Shige says. “He's not interested in going back. Only going forwards.”

“How is the map coming along?” Yamapi asks. 

“When the next bottle is done, it'll be almost complete,” Shige says. “We're moving in a spiral inwards. We're heading for a point, I'm just not sure exactly where that point will be. It won't be near land. With every bottle, we're heading further and further from land.”

“What does that mean?” Ryo asks. “Surely if we're going to find something, land is where we're going to find it.”

“Not necessarily,” Yamapi says. “Sometimes things aren't as you think they should be. I'm confident in the map and its reader.”

“The red stone,” Ryo says. “Who do you think will get the red stone?”

“It'd be crass to assume a connection with blood,” Jin says, slowly. “But I'm a crass sort of person. Tonight, we'll find something out about a member of this crew.”

 

The morning comes. Ryo prayed before he went to bed, not to wake up with the red stone. The captain and his mate are plenty bloodthirsty: he was almost confident that he'd be spared. Only when he opens his eyes, it's there, hanging from his hammock by its throat. 

 

“Well, well,” Yamapi says, to Jin. “How I am surprised.”

“It might not mean blood,” Jin reasons, feeling guilty for his late night accusation. “It could mean anything. It could mean a fighting spirit. He could be the key to all of this. I made an unfair judgment.”

“It's got to mean blood,” Yamapi says. “It's got to. I never trusted him. I always thought-”

“Give him space,” Jin retorts irritably. “You don't know anything about him. None of us do. I asked you to have faith-”

“In you, not in him. I trusted your judgment, not his.”

“They're the same thing, Yamapi,” Jin says. “And to be honest, Ryo getting the red stone isn't as ill an omen as my inability to get mine out of the bottle. I just can't do it. What if we get all the way to...where we need to go, and I let us all down? Think about that, if you're going to think about anything.”

 

Ryo creeps out at dawn, not daring to do anything in the dark. The light is just touching the horizon, spreading across the line of the sea. It's beautiful. Cold, but beautiful. He takes the bottle with him in shaking hands and sits on the deck, staring at it. The stone is coldly beautiful, too. 

He can't get into a quiet state. Everything around him is too noisy, and he's frightened that soon the crew will all be up, and he'll have to do this with an audience. So he takes the bottle in his hands, as tight as he can, squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can, and he prays. He prays and he prays and he prays, the words becoming audible, his head throbbing.

In a great flash, he sees visions: a dagger penetrating a woman's chest, a dagger penetrating a man's chest, a heart, blood, a heart, a man, smoke, signs, words, dagger, cabin, lake, faster and faster the images fly by, so that eventually he can't see anything at all but a blur. He cries out and drops the bottle, cursing himself, because he's ruined it for everybody-

Opening his eyes, the stone isn't a stone any longer, red liquid all over his hands, dripping like blood onto the deck. He moans, softly, and shakes his palms, trying to get rid of it. It drips down faster and faster and then, silently, it reforms on the hard wood surface until the stone appears again. 

From the wheel, Jin goes unseen. He watches it all and the blood drains out of his face.

 

He doesn't tell Yamapi what he's seen.

 

They wait for two days for the last stone, the one they know must be Yamapi's. Jin stands on the deck, his hips dotted with glinting stones and a bottle. They all know what lies ahead of them but the last stone refuses to come. Ryo becomes quiet and introverted, working hard but agonized. Shige tries to initiate conversation, but eventually has to give up.

Two days go by without progress, though Shige notes that they continue to spiral inwards. It can't be long now, he tells Yamapi. It can't be. 

On the third night, everything is quiet and still, but nobody is asleep. Yamapi and Jin are in Yamapi's cabin, Jin is on his back and his head is tipped back and he's crying out around his own fingers. Yamapi is holding his shoulders hard enough to hurt, and his mouth is on Jin's collarbone. They're so close together it hurts both of them to move, but they need this, they both need this to feel settled, to feel whole. Jin strokes Yamapi's chest and that makes Yamapi's heart ache – mostly because Jin would do anything to have a heart that could. 

And suddenly, Jin can't take it any more, he rises up and moves Yamapi beneath, and he's in Yamapi's lap with a grunt and a wince. Yamapi lets him, because it's beautiful and because he's so tired – he lies back and lets Jin move, lets Jin take his pleasure with the kind of greedy abandon that Jin defines as his own. And Jin rocks and Jin cries out, louder and louder, and Yamapi realises that in a strange way Jin is the sea. He wonders, as Jin steadies himself with a hand on Yamapi's hip, what Jun meant by his last comment. 

_Water can get everywhere, after all. The sea may no longer feel like being kind to you._

 

Ryo can't sleep. He tosses and turns and he feels he should be able to drop off, but he can't. He just lies and gets frustrated with himself. The images are still whirring around his brain, too fast to be seen. It's like having a hurricane in your head. Eventually, he has to move with it, because unless he can slow it down he'll never sleep again.

He climbs up to the main deck and lies there, looking at the stars. It stills his brain sometimes, the vastness of the universe. He's so small within it, it so large and beautiful. Tonight, it doesn't seem to calm him. He lies there and lies there and focuses so hard on the stars and the constellations that his eyes go blurry. It's then that he begins to see shapes, shapes that weren't ever there before.

893\. 893. 893. _893_.

 

Jin throws his head back as he gets a hand around his cock, when he hears the first moan that leaves Yamapi's mouth at the sight, he throws his head back. His hips slide forwards and he works them, faster and faster and faster, until it's something akin to a whirlpool. And Yamapi lies with his mouth slack, watching and wondering and unable to think or move or speak. A part of him is full of love and a part of him full of terror, and he can't reconcile the two. 

“Jin,” he says, and it's a choke of a sound, incomplete and clumsy. Jin isn't there, he's not paying attention to anything that isn't the coil of pleasure within him. So Yamapi repeats it, and repeats it, until Jin's eyes open when the world flies in. Jin's eyes are very wet and his mouth is very wet and his words are very wet and he's so desperate and so needy and so right _there_ , that Yamapi just looks at him and looks at him and rides him through it, steadies himself beneath it as Jin shakes it all out of his body, all of the pleasure, all of the endless, aching pleasure. 

Jin keeps his eyes open even through the trembling, and when he finally comes to rest, his face is soaking wet.

 

He can't stop himself. He wants to, but he can't. He scurried beneath the decks and found paint, and once he had paint he didn't need a paintbrush. He puts his hand in there whole and paints with his hands and his feet and anything else, because he needs it all out, needs to see it written down to make sense of it. Ryo feels crazed. People have often called him a lunatic, but only now does he actually believe it. 

He paints and paints and paints over every fresh surface he can find, the same three numbers, over and over again. They don't make any more sense the more times he does it, and so he breathes and tries again, trying to see past the shape of them, trying to delve into the monster he knows is there in the back of his head. The images flood him, inscrutable and impossible, and he can't clarify anything. Nothing makes any sense.

He falls back onto the deck and he looks around him, at every surface. 893. 893. 893. 893. _893_.

“I want,” he says. “I want-”

Everybody is awake, but nobody hears him.

 

Yamapi comes out the next morning, and his jaw hits the deck. Shige and Koyama follow, and nobody can believe the sight. Ryo lies on the deck, his arms by his sides, empty-looking.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry. I don't understand it. I don't- Maybe you should throw me over. Maybe it's the bottles. I don't know.”

Yamapi just stares, turning in circles. “What is the relevance? It's just numbers. What-- what kind of. I don't. We have to do something with you. I think you're it. I think you're the person we shouldn't have-”

“No,” Jin says, following from behind. “I think it's just one of those things. Those bottles drive crew members insane, that's what Jun said. Nobody is going overboard. Ryo gave up a part of his soul for the stone, and he's staying. He's staying.”

The pair of them stare at one another, defiantly cross. It's broken only when a faint chill in the air gives rise to familiarity, and Yamapi rushes to the side of the ship. 

“It's happening again,” he says. “Jin, you need to-”

“I'm there,” Jin says, as Koyama and Shige grab the rope. Ryo sits up, eyes wide and unsure, as everybody works around him. Jin lowers himself down the side of the boat and Yamapi watches. 

It comes out of nowhere. Jin's boots touch the ice and a shadow appears behind him, too quick for Jin to quite draw a weapon, so the shadow gets a hand on him. Yamapi doesn't have to think twice: he throws himself down the rope so hard that Shige nearly trips, and Ryo takes his place by the side of the ship. Jin turns, almost in slow-motion, and slashes into the shadow with his sword. It's a man, and he falls. Not a shadow, a pirate. He's thin and wet, probably scrounging. 

“They must have been waiting for us,” Yamapi says. “If Jun heard the stones-”

Jin fingers his belt, looking around with unease. “Are there any more?”

They patrol around the ship, the ice thick and unrelenting beneath their feet. There's nothing there. When they come back around, everything is the same, except for a small opening in the ice. Suddenly, Jin realises that there isn't a bottle. Just a small circle, not more than the width of a body around. 

“Shige,” Yamapi calls up. “The map! Where are we?”

Shige races away. Koyama looks around, awkward. Ryo is halfway up to the crow's nest, wanting more than anything to be useful. 

“I can't see anything,” he says. “Just ice, all around us. It goes on forever.”

“There's no bottle,” Yamapi muses. “Just ice.”

When Shige returns, he's brandishing the map with excitement. “We're there, I think. We've arrived. The spiral is tight – I don't think we can go any further!”

“We've not got enough bottles,” Yamapi says to Jin. Jin looks back, and nods. Neither of them want to move. They've learnt that lesson well. 

“Maybe we missed one,” Jin wonders. “We slept at night. What if we missed the chance to pick one up?”

“Jin, you need to get into that green bottle,” Yamapi says. “I don't know why it won't work for you, but we need-”

“I think,” Ryo says. “That the answer is in that opening. I can't see to the bottom of it, but there's something in it. I think I can see something in it.”

Yamapi looks at Jin, who paces over with trepidation. It's a deep hole, and neither of them can see anything. 

“It's worth a try,” Jin says. “Yamapi, come on, we've come this far.”

“Throw down the rope,” Yamapi yells back, and Shige slides down it. The moment his feet touch the ice, Koyama follows him. 

“I meant one of you-” Yamapi says, and then, looking between the two of them, he understands. “Ryo,” he calls up. “You're on lookout. Inform Shige and Koyama if you see anything awry. They'll inform us.”

“I thought you didn't trust me,” Ryo calls back.

“I don't,” Yamapi retorts. “But you're the only hope I've got. Are we clear?”

Ryo nods, and Shige grabs the end of the rope. Koyama grabs it, behind Shige. Yamapi looks at Jin and Jin looks back, and the four of them are shaking. The belt around Jin's hips trembles with the weight of the three stones and the bottle. None of this makes sense to Yamapi, but Jin is right. It's worth a shot. They can't go back. 

They lower Jin in first, Yamapi looking down into the hole. 

“If I say come back, you come back,” he says, and there isn't room for more than that, nor would it be appropriate. He clasps Jin's hand in his and then Jin squeezes into the hole and gradually disappears. When he's inched down enough to allow room, Yamapi follows.

They push slowly down together, a weird combination of wriggling and sliding. The walls of the hole aren't even quite wide enough for a body, and their shoulders ache after a few feet. The tunnel seems to go down and down forever, and Yamapi wonders what will await them when they finally touch solid ground. After a few more feet, he's wondering if they ever will.

And then Jin cries out in surprise, which gives Yamapi the fright of his life. He can't see anything but the top of Jin's head. 

“What is it?” he says, and Shige echoes it, somewhere up above.

“It fans out,” Jin says. “It gets a lot wider. Too wide to keep sliding down, hang on.” He inches himself downwards, and before Yamapi can stop him, he drops out entirely. Yamapi looks downwards and sees the solid icy ground beneath him. Jin picks himself up and looks around, as Yamapi follows him out of the tunnel and into the smallish room below. When they look up, they can see light above them, but it's distant. They turn around and around, getting their bearings, and what they see is so surprising that Yamapi has to blink a few times before he can believe it.

All around them, through an icy window, is water. Their surroundings are entirely blue. The room is unsurprisingly cold, and Jin shivers as he looks around him. Yamapi is afraid for their safety: what if the ice isn't thick enough?, but his thoughts are interrupted by Jin, who suddenly exclaims:

“I've found the bottle!”

Yamapi whirls around, but he can't see anything. “Where?” he demands, crossing the floor to Jin.

“We're in it,” Jin says, excitedly. “Look at where we're standing. It's a wide space with a tunnel above us. We're inside a great, big bottle.”

“We're inside a big bottle shape,” Yamapi calls up, through the tunnel.

“Oh,” he hears Koyama say, distantly. “There's no wine down there, is there?”

 

The surface around them is unclear. Thin veins wind through the thick ice sheets, and Jin traces them with his fingers as he walks around. Yamapi looks up, and down, but he can't see a solution, or a way to progress forwards, even. All he can see is thin veins and the sea around them. It's frightening, being surrounded by the sea, but able to breathe. It's like thinking yourself suffocating when you aren't. 

“What do we do now?” Jin says. “I expected something to happen. Nothing is happening.”

“I don't know,” Yamapi admits. He calls to Shige, to ask if the map is changing. There is no answer, and when he shouts louder, there's a faint negative, as if Shige is miles away rather than a matter of feet. 

“Take out the bottle,” Yamapi says. “There must be something about the bottle.”

 

Jun finds himself pacing. He's in the room where he sometimes deigns to sleep, when he wants to be fenced in from the rest of the world. It happens rarely, usually when trouble isn't far away. There's an odd wind stirring, or so it feels to him. 

It rains, all day, impossibly heavy and thick. The sky is murky and the sea is restless, and nobody leaves their houses, not even those who like a drink or seven on a Monday evening. There's nobody about. Everything is eerily quiet. 

When Jun finishes pacing, he leans out of the window and gathers the rain on his face, in the hope of clearing his head. After five minutes, he only feels cold, so he closes the shutters and slumps down in a chair. It's then that he sees the dagger, water-logged on his desk. 

“What's the point in rain,” he mutters to himself, picking it up and fondling it dry. It's in that moment that he's fooled: it's a different dagger. Not the one Jin gave him. He turns it over, and over. Yes, it is: there are no blue stones. The one Jin gave him had blue stones.

He looks down at the paper on the desk, and there's piles of water, puddles and streams of it. It's not the rain. It's the dagger. 

 

As soon as Jin takes out the bottle, there's a faint sound. A clinking sound, like ice knocking against your boots. Yamapi turns, sharply, but sees nothing. He's almost certain that somebody is tapping against the ice, but there's nothing around them but water. When he turns back to Jin, Jin's face is pale. He's staring up at the ice on his side, where a small crack has begun, where a small crack is travelling down the centre of the room they're standing in.

“We're going to drown,” he's saying. “Oh, fuck, Yamapi – what do we do? What do we, I can't-”

Yamapi does the only thing that's logical: he leans over and grabs the belt from Jin's waist, drops it to the floor, starts out saying, “Take it, take it! We have what you requested!”, only it becomes a shout, and the shout does no more than anything else. The crack widens, more cracks begin, until the whole structure is riddled with them. Thin veins become wide valleys and the sound of rushing can be heard, and there's nothing, absolutely nothing. The tunnel is too high for them to jump, and they wouldn't be able to scramble fast enough, and-

“Yamapi,” Jin says, only it's small against the water, small against the world. He says it again and again until Yamapi locks his gaze, and then Jin picks up the belt and holds it in his hand. 

“We have to get the stone out, we have to-- I can't. You have to help me.”

“It's your stone-”

“No, what if it isn't. What if it's not, Yamapi, I haven't got a soul, I haven't got – I lost them, I lost them before, and you said. You said that I could have your heart, Yamapi, hold the bottle with me. Touch the bottle. We have to do it together. That's what we need to do.”

“Jin, I don't-” Yamapi begins, because there's not a lot of truth in any of that, but there's no other option. The walls are beginning to flood, there's puddles underneath their feet. Water washes the walls clean, freezing cold and so, so loud. There's nothing else to do. Nothing else but to trust, for the last time, that Jin is right. Jin is almost never right, but maybe this time, maybe this time-

Yamapi reaches out, and hopes that when he opens his eyes again, there'll still be the two of them. That after all this, there'll still be Jin. Whatever else he loses, he can't lose this. His fingers touch the bottle, clasping Jin's fingertips, and there's an almighty sound. 

 

“Dig,” Shige is saying, over and over. “I can hear water, they'll be drowned, we have to dig-”

Koyama is on his hands and knees besides, trying uselessly to scrape away the ice. 

Ryo watches, gaunt, from the crow's nest. He's unable to move. Unable to speak. What if he caused this? What if he had a bad soul? What has he carried with him from a previous life, a future one? What spirits are inside him, and what has he passed on to this crew?

“Ryo!” Shige shouts up. “You have to help us. Get down here and help us!”

Ryo can't. Ryo feels frozen. He cannot move, even if he wanted to.

 

The stones on Jin's belt are changing colour. Yamapi's eyes are open and the world is collapsing, the world is flooding, and he and Jin are soaking wet and being thrashed from all sides. They're choking out water and bracing the cold, but Jin's eyes are open and they're surrounded by a white light. They look at each other because there's nothing else: this is it, this is the only thing that matters. The stones turn white, one by one, as if a light is turning on inside each one.

The purple is first, the blue next. Each glints and with each one, the water seems a little less loud, the world a little less cold. The white throws around them, makes it easier to see. Yamapi's hands are tight and wet and cold, and Jin's mouth is open with the force of it all, but they're here and they're alive, and that is all that matters. 

The red stone won't change. It falters. The colour tries and tries, but it can't envelop. It can't illuminate. It cannot switch on. Yamapi stares at it and then at Jin, and somehow he knows that they must have picked the wrong person. Ryo's soul is dark, is treacherous. He had other things on his mind when he bonded himself to the stone: things like blood, death, betrayal. Jin sees it, too. The light is fading from his eyes and Yamapi doesn't know how to stop it, not until Jin reaches out and grabs the stone, hissing out curses, full of absolute rage.

Above ground, Ryo begins to move. He climbs down from the top of the ship, he races across the deck. He throws his upper body over the side of the ship, looking down upon the chaos below. And he holds on, and he holds on, and he closes his eyes, and he hopes with all of his might.

There's a huge flash of light, then, and Yamapi closes his eyes. All he can feel as the world drops away in the warmth of Jin's hands, clutching his. 

Neither of them see the green stone change or the veins turn inwards. Neither of them see anything. All they can feel is one another.

 

“Fuck,” Jin exclaims, for what feels like the thousandth time. He opens his eyes to freezing cold water and a dark sky. Paddling, he gets his bearing, and then he turns sharply, looking for Yamapi. Yamapi, who surfaces beside him, he's never been so glad to see him in his life, and-

Shige and Koyama, too, some way off. They swim closer, grabbing onto each other with fear in their eyes. And Jin looks at Yamapi, and Yamapi looks back, and neither of them know what to say. 

Ryo leans over the edge of the ship, and he lets down the rope. 

When Jin emerges with no belt, only a bottle, Yamapi feels his heart sink. As they lie on the deck, sodden and confused, he feels for the bottle in Jin's hand. Bringing it before his face, he strains his eyes to see inside it. Not a stone any longer – lying flat at the bottom of the glass is a small, green shoot. 

 

Yamapi stays ashore long enough to help his sister plant the shoot, to watch it grow where the crops refuse to. He stays long enough to see it flourish, to see it provide her with anything she asks of it: first rice, then grains, maybe flowers, she thinks, next. It grows and grows as if it never tires of it, a constant chameleon. He stays no longer than a few months, enough to see the town beginning to grow again, to feed again, to bloom again. 

The fields are beautiful as the world changes itself to summer, but Yamapi realises that he has no time for green fields, no time for the changing seasons, no time even for watching his sister working in the hot, lazy sun. This world has no sway over him. The one that does is the one that changes, that tosses and turns, that isn't always kind but is always a world in which he feels he belongs. 

“I don't want to come back again,” he says to Jin, as they prepare to leave. Summer a good time for sailing: plenty of crew, plenty of wine and food. “I just want to stay on the sea.”

“Jun always said that you couldn't take a pirate ashore for too long,” Jin says. “Not without him getting seasick.”

“I thought after everything that happened with us, I wanted a break. Some time away, to enjoy you. But it got worse, when I took that time away. Isn't that funny?”

“Not really,” Jin says. “We don't belong here. We never have. We belong out there.”

“How can I let it go of it all?” Yamapi says, suddenly, looking at the mast and the flag and the deck and trying to force the horrible images out of his mind: Jin choking on the deck, his body full of salt water, halfway between this world and the next. The awful circle on his chest, the empty place where a beat should be. 

“You just keep going forwards,” Jin says, after a moment. “And you stop looking back. And you think about the moment in the bottom of that bottle, the moment when you took my hands and you trusted me. That's what you do.”

Yamapi studies Jin, for a long time, and the words he speaks then are soft and slow, because he doesn't want to have to repeat them. And slowly, and surely, Jin's face becomes open and soft and there's a nod in his eyes that spreads over the rest of his face.

“From here on,” Yamapi says, “you should be the captain."


End file.
